A Test Of Loyalty
by DancingInTheDark85
Summary: John Kennex has always known that sometimes sacrifices have to be made in order to do the right thing. But when his latest sacrifice lands him in a maximum security prison, can he keep safe and sane long enough to get the job done?
1. Prologue

A Test Of Loyalty

Prologue

The handcuffs chaffed at his wrists and the chain that linked them to the manacles at his feet clinked as he shuffled out of the bus, his stride hampered, struggling not to trip. Someone in the line in front of him did just that, knocking into a guard on his way to the ground. It drove everyone to a halt, lest they end up in a pile of tangled limbs. The man who had fallen was struggling to get up, shaking so badly that he couldn't support his weight on his trembling arms.

The guard who he'd knocked into, an overweight balding man whose name badge read Belton, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. "You'll learn to stand and be a man here, or you'll quickly become somebody's bitch." He warned, using the butt of his rifle to give a vicious jab to the young man's ribs. The impact obviously hurt, and the man whimpered and looked like he might go down again, but he didn't. The other prisoners looked on the scene with disinterest, real or feigned. It would do no one any favours to appear upset by violence here.

The shambling line carried on, ignoring the jeering of those behind the double layers of electrified fencing and the cold gaze of the MXs in the guard towers, as they approached the looming grey concrete building that was to house them for their foreseeable future. The building had obviously been designed by someone who wanted to instil fear. It was cylindrical in nature and had no windows, making it look like some sort of chimney. It promised a dark existence, except for the few hours a day designated as exercise time. It was actually even larger inside than it appeared, as only half the building was above the surface, the other half buried deep in the ground, the effect being that if you at the bottom and looked up to the lead-lined and bulletproof skylight in the top, daylight seemed so far away as to be completely unreachable. He knew this because he'd been here before, although the last time he hadn't been in chains.

As he crossed the threshold into the building, he found himself in a holding room, with half a dozen MXs stood to attention, lit was old fluorescent lighting that seemed to be making the headache he already had that much worse. They waited before all twenty-three of them were inside before shutting the heavy metal door. The guard, Belton strode to the front and addressed the crowd. "Listen up! You are to strip, the room will decontaminate you and then you are to receive your new clothes and bedding. After this you are to follow the MXs who will show you to your cell. Anyone tries to fuck around and there will be consequences."

With a few grumbles, everyone started to undress. Belton stalked through the ranks, glaring at him. He kept his head down and concentrated on undoing the buttons on his shirt that he'd worn that morning to his sentencing. Stood here, that morning seemed like a lifetime ago already.

Belton stopped right in front of him, hands folded behind his back, like a Sergeant Major about to tear into a recruit at inspection. He leaned in and whispered. "I know who you are. I know what you did. Surprised they've not housed you in the isolation cubes, but it'll be a pleasure to have you down in Gen Pop with us. You should watch your back though, asshole. It won't be long before others work out who you are either." He'd been a little too loud, on purpose, making the prisoners on either side of them look over with curiosity.

Perhaps the sensible response would have been to ignore the comment, keep his head down and do what he was told, but instead he looked up and returned the glare, jaw set in his best menacing frown. The defiance pissed Belton off, and he smacked him round the back of the head with his palm. It wasn't enough to wipe the frown off his face, or even make him blink.

It was the guard who in the end broke off the staring competition, turning on his heel and striding back to the front of the room. Everyone else was now naked, some covering their groin with their hands, others revelling in the chance to be an exhibitionist and the opportunity for masculine posturing. MXs were coming round with bags to pack belongings into. He had to hurry to finish undressing, an MX holding out the bag patiently while he stuffed his suit, shoes and underwear inside. When the MX sealed the bag and walked away he was left feeling cold and uncomfortable. He'd been proud of his body once, and had had few inhibitions, but now the hard muscle was littered with scars and he could feel the eyes of other inmates sizing him up and looking for weaknesses. He wasn't prepared to show any though, so kept his hands firmly on his hips, feet planted in defiance.

Belton walked out of the room and behind a toughened glass screen and the MXs followed, filing out with arms full of clothing. There was a hiss then, and then the room filled with some sort of spray. It stung the eyes slightly and made a few of the inmates cough, the taste of it in the air was like getting soap or shampoo in your mouth. Someone on the back row was being melodramatic about it and cursing a blue streak. Someone else snarled at him not to be a pussy.

The decontamination lasted a few minutes. When it was switched off, the MXs marched back in, this time with stacks of plastic bags containing piles of clothing and bedding. These were handed out according to size and were given two minutes to break into them and get dressed in orange jumpsuits with black plimsols, before the doors at the front of the room opened and they were ushered into the main area of the prison.

An MX carrying a box called out his name and he followed the android down ten levels towards the bottom on the prison. "All inmates on levels two to ten will report for cell inspection and breakfast at oh-seven-hundred." The MX explained. "This will be followed by two hours in the exercise yard. Showers will be taken in rotation at the allotted time. Lunch is served at thirteen-hundred-hours, Work is undertaken between fourteen-hundred-hours and eighteen-hundred-hours. Work opportunities will only be given to those inmates who show compliance and is not available to those in the isolation cubes. Dinner is at nineteen-hundred-hours and lights out at twenty-one-hundred hours. Your compliance is expected on all orders. Violence will not be tolerated and will be punishable with time in isolation. Counts of violence will be recorded and time penalties will be added to your sentence. Attempts to escape, harm a guard or incite violent disorder will be met with an automatic five years added to your sentence. Such force shall be used as is necessary to prevent the commission of such an offence."

The MX had droned on about the rules until they reached the sixth floor above base level. Level six was ten levels below ground and there were another thirty levels above. The light from the skylight in the roof barely made it that far, even with the fluorescent lighting everywhere, the place felt dark and miserable. They reached a cell designated 601, although due to the cylindrical nature of the building it still had a neighbour on either side.

The MX ushered him inside and he found a small room with a bunk bed in, a toilet, and where there had once been a desk and chair, there was now a narrow camp bed. He glanced at the bunks and saw they were both occupied with men who propped themselves up to study the newcomer.

The MX put the box it had been carrying down on the camp bed, and it creaked under the weight. "This holds enough charge for you to use for a week. Every Monday it will be taken to be connected to the main supply during the day and will be returned to you by lights out ready for use. It will not be used to charge contraband. Any questions?"

He shook his head and the MX left. He sat down on the creaky little cot and peered into the box at the outdated synthetic limb charger before sliding the box under his bed and laying down. John Kennex sighed and wondered, not for the first time, why he'd let himself make sure a huge mistake.

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	2. Chapter 1

Authors Notes: Devin, I love ya, SouthernCrossNorthernStar, so glad you're back for more. Enjoy!

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Chapter 1

Two weeks previously

"Get back!" John shouted raising his tac rifle and brandishing it at the woman in front of him. "Drop the weapon, hands in the air!" But the woman raised her uzi instead, a defiant look on her face. John fired before she had chance to pull the trigger, catching her centre mass and knocking her back to the floor. He rushed over to her, nudging the weapon out of her hand with his boot before kicking it further away. She had a ballistic vest on, and was still alive, gasping air into her bruised chest. John made sure to cuff her, hands behind her back before unzipping her jacket and ripping apart the Velcro of her vest in order to check the wound he'd made. The bullet had been absorbed into the vest just below her breast, her ribs were starting to turn purple with bruising.

All around him his team of MXs were clearing the rest of the house. He could hear them shouting orders at the other people who they'd found there. There was a short burst of gunfire, which John recognised as a 9mm, followed by one precise shot by an MX.

"Are they here?" He asked the woman, running his hands across her ribs just beneath her sports bra, checking for any distortion, they appeared to be cracked but not snapped.

"Get your hands off me bastard!" She snarled in response.

"Hey John!" Dorian called from downstairs.

John looked around and waved an MX over, "Keep an eye on her." He ordered, standing and following the sound of Dorian's voice into the basement.

He met Dorian on the stairs and looked down into a large room. It was full of filthy mattresses spread out on the floor, littered with thin blankets and discoloured pillows, dirty food-encrusted plates and more than a few needles and 'bends' vials. It smelt of sweat and sex.

"Dammit, they've moved them." John said, smacking his hand against the wooden bannister in frustration.

Detective Paul came down to join them and wrinkled his nose at the room. "There are three rooms upstairs that have clearly been used to service clients." He pulled a face, "Skankiest looking rooms I've ever seen, and I did five years in VICE."

John smacked the bannister again and growled, "This is shit! How are we always one step behind them?"

"Without getting the names of the main players, we're always going to be playing catch up." Paul shrugged. "It was always the same when I worked VICE. I can't tell you how many times we interrupted distribution rackets, closed brothels, shut up drugs labs, if you couldn't get the higher ups, they'd always just set up shop somewhere else. The scum that runs these things never get their hands dirty, most of the grunts don't even know who they're working for."

John barged passed them then, on his way back upstairs, striding over to the woman he'd shot who was now stood up and being walked by an MX out to the awaiting prisoner transport. "What about you? Huh?" He snarled, clenching his fist into her jacket and stopping her in her stride. He was a good six inches taller than her and used his height to loom over her in an intimidating manner. "Tell me, are you a worthless grunt? Or are you actually smart enough to know who you work for?"

Paul and Dorian had followed him to the top of the stairs and were watching the interaction pensively.

Rather than be intimidated, she smiled at him, "You think you can bully me? Men have been trying to bully me my whole life."

"Men have been bullying those women too. Done a lot worse than that to them as well. If you're really so tough you should be standing up for them, helping us get them out of the hell they've been forced into, not joining forces with the men that abuse them."

She shook her head. "I'm not afraid of you, and I'm not a snitch."

"Missing the point but okay." John barked a sarcastic laugh, shaking his head in exasperation. "You may want to rethinkk that answer when you're looking at twenty years for human trafficking." He let go of her jacket and stalked outside.

The MX took the woman out to the awaiting transport vehicle. Dorian and Paul followed them out and watched from the front step of the house as John disappeared into the woods that surrounded the dilapidated property.

"Is he okay?" Paul asked.

"I don't know man, this case is really getting to him." Dorian replied. They'd been on the tail of this human trafficking ring for weeks now, since finding a trailer full of malnourished and strung out young women and girls, some as young as twelve, three of them dead. They were all from different countries, some from over the wall, they'd all been lured with promise of a better life but had been sold, beaten and made to work in factories and brothels. Most had been injected with highly addictive drugs that made them compliant and dependant on their masters. Long days of investigation later and John had been given a tip off for a house they were keeping another group of girls in, but when they got there they were too late. This had been happening for the last few weeks, they felt like they were getting nowhere.

"It sucks. It's getting to all of us." Paul admitted. "This is why I got out of VICE in the first place." He paused a moment. "Are you okay?"

Dorian was taken aback by the question. He didn't think that Detective Paul would ever learn to treat him as anything but an android, but in the last few months he'd softened to the idea, had started to treat him less like a robot and more like a colleague he found irritating, which was still usually better than he treated John. Dorian thought about his response and shrugged. "I'm okay. But I suppose I've spent a long time being angry at humans treating androids as though they're objects to be used, I suppose I forgot that some humans treat other humans that way too. Or at least, I knew it in principal, but I've never really seen it before, not on this scale. It's different to reading a report, you know?"

Paul nodded in sympathy. "Look and if you've ever felt that I was treating you as an object..." he said hesitantly.

"Don't worry about it." Dorian replied. "I've come to realise you're an asshole to everybody." He grinned, luckily Paul laughed in response.

"Yeah, well your partner is hardly sunshine and good vibes all the time either." He countered.

At the mention of John, Dorian turned his attention back to the woods that he'd wandered off into. How many times had he ribbed him about exactly that. When he'd first met John, he'd been a coiled spring of angry energy, they'd clashed personalities in a big way and there had been many things about John that annoyed him; his lack of punctuality, the frequent disappearing acts, the way he could be provoked to violent anger at the slightest thing. All those traits had calmed in the months that followed and Dorian had seen a different side to him. One day he'd asked Captain Maldonado why she'd picked him to be with the surly detective and she'd said that she wanted to remind John what he'd been like before the coma. At the time, the thought that Maldonado believed the two of them were similar made him shake his head in disbelief, but these days he could start to see it, sometimes. As far as Dorian could tell though, it was a constant battle that John waged with himself, and if he was tired or stressed or hurting, then he would slip back into being the angry man he was when Dorian had met him.

John came out of the trees then, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He marched towards the car sullenly and got in, waiting.

"Think that's your cue to go." Paul said. "I'll finish up here and see you back at the precinct."

Dorian nodded. "Thank you." He offered.

"For what?"

"For asking me how I was." Dorian trudged down the steps and headed over to the car, not really looking forward to finding out what manner of temper he'd be riding home with. When he got into the passenger seat John didn't react to his presence. He was sat with his head back and eyes closed, if Dorian didn't know any better her would have said he was meditating.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He said in the most unconvincing way possible, eyes still closed. They'd been working double shifts on this case for a long time now and it looked like the long hours were beginning to take their toll. He took a deep breath and then pressed the ignition, turning his concentration to the road as he pulled away.

They sat in silence on the way back to the precinct. Dorian knew better than to push his human to talk and so he spent the ride back reviewing all the case notes again, for the thirteenth time, and by the time they got back, the fourteenth time. It was useless, all the evidence they had of their existence, and still they didn't have enough information to find these women. He hoped that the crime scene techs would find something new at this one, but as the reports were filtering in from Paul's MX still on scene, it appeared there was nothing so far. Dorian hated to think of what they were going through, and as John had pointed out in a frustrated rage the previous evening, more would die unless they found them soon.

As soon as they got back into the bullpen John slumped into his desk chair opposite Detective Stahl. He was barely sat in it for a second when Captain Maldonado stuck her head out of her door and shouted, "John, my office! Now!"

John got up and slinked over to the petite woman like a puppy with a tail between his legs leaving Dorian and Stahl to exchange confused looks.

"She got a phone call earlier and she's been in a mood ever since." Stahl leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. "Has John shot another MX?"

Dorian shook his head. "No, but he's in a bad mood too. Paul thinks it's just the case getting to him, but it feels like more than that."

"Have you asked him?" Stahl said but when she received a long-suffering look from Dorian she corrected herself, "Right, I forgot who I was talking about. You asked and he was unnecessarily sarcastic?"

"Actually no, just said he was fine and then went quiet."

Stahl frowned. "Then he really isn't okay." She reached out and patted him on the arm, "Don't worry too much. You do a good job of looking after him, whatever it is I'm sure he'll get through it."

Dorian decided to get John a cup of coffee hoping that it would calm the man's frayed nerves when he got out of what was bound to be some sort of shouting match with his boss and close friend. Dorian knew how much John respected the woman but his bullheadedness made it unlikely that he'd just sit quietly and listen to the most recent reason he'd exasperated her beyond her considerable limits.

He set the black sugary coffee down and perched in his chair to wait. Then the door banged open and John stormed out, face like thunder, just as a pair of suited detectives appeared in the bullpen.

"John Kennex?" One of the detectives flashed his badge at the man, stopping him in his tracks. "I am arresting you for the theft of three hundred thousand dollars taken from the secured cash lock up in this precinct."

"What!" Dorian leapt up, "There's got to be some sort of mistake!"

But what horrified him was John's reaction, rather than protest and snarl and threaten them as Dorian would have expected, he just looked at the android sadly and then offered up his wrists to be handcuffed. The detective made a show of clicking them onto his wrists and then taking him by the elbow and leading him out of the bullpen.

"John," Dorian rushed to intercept them and stood blocking their exit to the holding cells. "John, this can't be right. Tell them." He turned to the detective. "He'd never ever take anything. He's a great officer, who believes in what we do." There was no reaction from the detective, and more upsetting, nothing from John either. Dorian turned frantically to Captain Maldonado for support but she was just leaning against the door frame of her office, arms folded across her body. Dorian had never known her not to fight for the people who worked for her, and for John especially, who she'd put her job and life on the line for more than once, but now all that anger was gone and she was left looking small and helpless.

"DRN, step out of the way." The detective said calmly.

When he looked like he was standing his ground, John placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dorian, it's okay. Please just let them do their job." He pleaded.

"But I know you didn't take that money."

"Dorian, please."

It was the sound of desperation in John's voice that made the android step back and allow them through. John put his head down, shoulders slumped, unwilling to look anyone else in the eye as he was taken to the holding cells. Dorian had never seen him look so defeated.

When they were gone, Dorian was left staring at the empty space where his friend had just been, unable to process what had happened. He jumped when Captain Maldonado came up beside him. "Take the rest of the day off Dorian."

"Why didn't you stop them?" He turned on her angrily.

But she just shook her head sadly. "Go home." She turned around to the face the whole of the bullpen, "In fact that goes for all of you, everyone go home, get some sleep. I'll expect you all back tomorrow, rested and ready to find these missing women. That goes for you too Dorian. I don't want to hear any reports of you doing any work until you get back to work here at 8 am."

Dorian did go home, but as he walked the two blocks to Rudy's he started to look for the security footage for the police cash lock up. It had all been restricted, as had anything connecting John to an investigation. Unable to produce anything of worth there, he started to go over their current case again until he received a text message flash across his retinal screen from Maldonado, 'I'm watching you. I meant it, no more work.' At least the Captain was still at work even if everyone else had gone home, he hoped that meant she was working on defending John.

He got back to Rudy's with his circuits feeling frayed and wondering what he would tell the twitchy engineer, but he found he didn't have to. The old church was quiet, no music playing, no bustling about or the sound of the awkward Englishman muttering to himself as he conducted his work. Instead he found him hunched over his array of computer screens watching the news with the sound off. As Dorian entered, Rudy startled and turned around to greet him, a look of horror on his face. "Some MX footage has been leaked online. Why on earth has John been arrested?"

Dorian turned up the sound, the reporter was talking over a muted video of the bullpen. "This footage, sent to us just moments ago shows what appears to be the arrest of one our cities detectives by his own people. At this stage we don't know what the arrest was for however we have identified the officer involved. Detective Sergeant John Kennex had been one of the cities most decorated police officers, but was the only survivor of a raid that killed eleven of his colleagues almost three years ago. He lost his leg in an explosion and remained in a coma for fifteen months. Colleagues say that since returning to the force, he appeared to have been suffering psychological issues..." Dorian switched the sound off again angrily.

"I've just been checking the logs and it appears one of the MXs has been hacked." Rudy said, "But it's all happened so fast, it's like they knew what was going to happen. Dorian what is going on?"

Dorian shook his head. "I have no idea."


	3. Chapter 2

Authors Note: DevinBourdain (as always), SouthernCrossNorthernStar and Lara Valie, thank you all for your enthusiasm for my new little fic, (it probably won't actually be that little). Everyone else, please make me smile by sending me a few words to let me know what you think.

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Chapter 2

John wasn't sure he'd slept at all. His first evening had been pretty uneventful. His two cellmates had ignored him and so he'd done the same thing back. When the buzzer rang for dinner, he'd marched down to the mess hall with everyone else, eaten his bland and overcooked spaghetti and then marched back up to his cell. He'd perfected a snarling frown and kept this on at all times, which so far had managed to keep everyone away from him. That night his two cellmates had played cards for contraband cigarettes and had pretended he wasn't there, so he'd laid on his uncomfortable camp bed and pretended to sleep while keeping alert, listening to their conversation to determine as much as he could about the men he'd be sharing a room with.

The man on the top bunk was clearly the leader of the two. He was in his mid-twenties a large build Hispanic male who was covered, neck to knuckles in tattoos and liked to wear his jumpsuit with the arms tied at his waist to show them and his considerable muscles off. The other guy called him Guerrero, John's Spanish was rudimentary at best but even he knew that it meant warrior, and he was unsure if it was a last name or a nickname. Judging by the guy's swagger he wouldn't be surprised if it was an affectation. Where as Guerrero was built like a bull and had a loud laugh which he used to punctuate his own bad jokes, the other guy was younger, skinny, pale and sullen. His almost skeletal arms were covered in little neat scars that told John he'd once been a self-harmer. The scars were old, unlike the track marks at his elbow, which told John that either he hadn't been in prison long or he was still managing to get hold of drugs. Guerrero called him Ads, which John took to mean his name was Adam. The two could not be further apart in personality but Adam seemed to humour Guerrero's need to talk constantly about himself and Guerrero seemed to have adopted a big brother type affection with the younger man.

By the time lights out was called, John was fed up of hearing about how Guerrero had been 'making it' as some 'big time DJ' along with graphic descriptions of a lot of sexual encounters and that he'd been victimised by 'the Feds'. He got the sense that Adam had heard it all before, and that it was probably a conversation for John's benefit. John recognised several of the tattoos as showing his gang affiliations and had serious doubts as to his 'innocence', but he just rolled his eyes at the immature posturing and went back to staring at the ceiling. He supposed there were worse people to have to share a cell with and was quietly confident that as long as he could keep the scowl up, that neither of them would give him much trouble.

An overcrowded prison, even in the dead of night, was a noisy place. The design of the building meant it had excellent acoustics which resulted in the amplification of everyone's snores. Not to mention the group on the level below John who had clearly had a new inmate dumped in their midst and they were doing their best to torment him to make him cry. John wondered if it was the trembling young man who had fallen on their way in. To be fair to him, no matter how much they jeered and threatened, John couldn't hear him break. Eventually other inmates got fed up of the noise and roared at them to shut up.

But even when they had gone quiet, or quieter at least, sleep eluded him. His crappy camp bed was uncomfortable and he didn't usually sleep in his synthetic leg but was unwilling to take it off in front of his new cellmates. The prosthetic would last for about two days before needing a charge but if he wore it for too long the pressure on his stump made the muscles twitch and the skin chafe. During the day it was hardly noticeable, but at night, when there were no other distractions, the pain was not easy to ignore. He'd just been about to give in and uncouple the leg when the buzzer sounded and the steel-barred door rattled open.

Adam got up first, rolling out of bed and giving John a sullen glare. He took a piss and then, without bothering to wash his hands, just dusting them off on the legs of his jumpsuit, strode out, glancing at the security cam mounted above the door just long enough for the retinal scan to beep in acknowledgement. Guerrero mimicked his actions, although thankfully with a little more thought to sanitation, and then suddenly John was alone for the first time in days. He sighed and went over to the sink, studying his face in the tarnished toughened mirror. He looked as exhausted as he felt and there was a few days growth on his face that made him look a little older. There was an electric razor among his issued toiletries but he considered keeping the beard, after all it would make him less recognisable.

He must have been stood there for a while because suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by an electronic voice coming from the speaker next to the camera. "John Kennex, report to the canteen. You are five minutes behind schedule." John ignored the voice and took his time washing up, enjoying the peace and quiet until the voice gave him another warning. Not sure he wanted to find out what would happen if he continued to ignore them he glared at the camera until it beeped and then made his way into the corridor.

The walkway was quite narrow and as John peered over the edge of the concrete barrier down to the canteen which was six floors below, he felt his stomach lurch with vertigo. He'd walked these hallways once or twice before, but always to interview a prisoner and all the other inmates had been locked safely away at the time. He dreaded to think what would happen if he got into a fight with someone so close to such a huge drop. The view up wasn't much better, there was a dark grey sky above the skylight this morning and the artificial lighting created shadows everywhere, giving the impression of night even though the sun had been up for over an hour.

John trudged to the stairs and made his way down to the lowest floor, where there was a large canteen and long tables with bench seating. John grabbed a plastic tray and joined the back of the line, annoyed that he'd been hurried down there and yet would still have to wait. When he got to the front, he was served a bowl of runny porridge, a small carton of orange juice and a black coffee in a plastic cup, by an MX. He turned to face the benches and scanned the crowd for a spare seat, preferably alone.

"Holy shit!" A voice rang out across the noise of hundreds of men eating and talking. "Is that John Kennex?"

John's heart sank. It had been less than twenty-four hours and his anonymity had been destroyed already. He tried to scan the crowd and see who had spoken. A lot of inmates had turned around to stare at him, but there was only one who was sat there with a big shit-eating grin on his face. He was a large balding guy in his fifties with a hard face. John felt like he'd seen him before but couldn't put a name to the face.

There was an empty seat in front of the guy, and so John gripped his tray tightly and strode over to take it. The other guy's smile widened as John slid onto the bench in front of him. "Listen," John growled in his best threatening manner. "You are not going to tell anyone who I am. If you do, I will find out. I still have friends on the outside who can make life very difficult for your family."

But the man just laughed. "You don't remember who I am do you?"

"I've put a lot of scumbags away. I don't remember all their faces." John sneered.

"That's rich, considering it looks like you're one of us scumbags now." The man laughed. "If you did remember me you'd know I ain't got no family left. The only person who ever loved me was my girl, and I shot her. Even my goddam dog's dead by now. Word of warning, you'd better start remembering some of those faces, because it looks like I'm not the only one in here who recognises you."

John was about to say something back when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, the fingertips digging viciously into his collarbone. John turned to see who it was and looked up into a thin, snarling face. Now this man he did remember, Lee Vincent, a drug trafficker who had entered a club and opened fire on the owner and a couple of patrons. He and his old partner Marty Pelham had been close enough to hear the shots and had rushed to the scene just as screaming crowds of people had rushed out. It had still been dark and in the chaos John hadn't seen Vincent until he pistol-whipped him. Then Marty had leapt out of the crowd and the three of them had ended up rolling around on the floor until they could successfully detain the man. Not only had Vincent been charged with the three murders at the club, forensics had shown that the gun had been used in two other murders and were then able to tie him to all three.

Vincent still had a scar on his eyebrow, which had been a result of Marty slamming his face into the marble floor when the gangster had managed to aim his gun again at John's face. He was a looking a lot older now, it had been fourteen years and it looked like prison had not been kind to him. His hair was greying at the temples and his face had lines on it but he still looked like he could pack a punch.

"Officer Kennex!" He said, loudly, so others would hear. "What a pleasure it is to see you in here. Knew that power of the badge would go to your head. What did you do? Shoot an unarmed man?"

John stood up for face the man, he was a couple of inches taller and wanted to use every advantage he had. He gritted his teeth, looked down at Vincent and tried not to look intimidated. The whole of the canteen had gone quiet and were watching the interaction, it wouldn't do to look weak now.

"I thought I'd never see your pretty boy face again. I've had fourteen years to think about what I want to do to it. You put me here on a life sentence, trust me when I say I have nothing to lose by making your life hell." And then to prove a point, he swung a punch. His bony knuckles hit John in the jaw, snapping his head to the side with enough force to cause whiplash. John didn't even think before retaliating, before Vincent had even manged to regain his balance, John drew up his right leg and kicked out. He drove his leg into the gangster's solar plexus, the extra power in the synthetic leg causing Vincent to fly backwards, sliding across the table that was behind him, and landing with a thud in a heap on the other side. There was a beat where everyone stopped and stared, unsure what they'd seen, but then the balding girlfriend killer barked out a laugh and both John and Vincent became surrounded by MX's.

"John Kennex, the penalty for violence is one week in the cubes."

John watched over the MX's shoulder as two others pulled Vincent to his feet and escorted him away while he was still struggling to draw in his breath. "That was in self-defence." John protested. "You were there, you know I didn't start it."

"John Kennex, the penalty for violence is one week in the cubes."

"Of for fucks sake," John growled. "I have a right to have the video watched by someone who can make an actual human decision on my punishment."

The MX cocked his head as though the request was unexpected, but it didn't argue, and god knows MX's could definitely argue when they thought they were right. John folded his arms and waited. After a few minutes of absolute stillness the MX got back to him. "John Kennex, please return to your breakfast."

"Thank you." John replied sarcastically as the MX's drifted back to their posts. John grabbed his tray off the table and glared down at the man who had started all this. "Don't you dare to fucking cross me either." He snarled before striding over to a less crowded table. As he sat down, the other inmates on the table shuffled away from him in fear and he was left to eat his breakfast alone.

By the time he was done eating, most of the inmates had started to drift back up to their cells. He trudged up the six flights of metal stairs but as he approached his cell he could hear voices so he quietened his approach.

"What the hell?" He could hear Adam saying, just has he appeared at the door. He found Guerrero sat on the bottom bunk while Adam was knelt on the floor with his back to the door. He'd pulled the box out from under John's bed and the pair of them were peering in it. John cleared his throat and Adam jumped, instinctively releasing his hold on the box and shoving it back where he found it.

"What the fuck is that dude?" Guerrero asked as Adam scrambled to his feet.

John frowned at them, debating what his answer should be but figured they'd find out sooner or later and he didn't really want to spend another uncomfortable night. "It's a prosthetic limb charger. But don't for a second think that makes me weak."

Guerrero cackled. "No, I think you've proven your point there Cerdo!" There was a hint of malice behind it. Adam just glared at him. It was clear that his cellmates had not only seen the fight but had heard him being outed as a police officer. He wasn't sure anymore how he'd thought this would go, but he was starting to get the sense it would just be a victory to survive the end of the week.

A voice sounded in room, "Levels one to six, proceed to the exercise yard."

Guerrero stood and deliberately shoulder barged him as he headed to the door, whispering in his ear. "You're in our world now." He warned. "Don't drop the soap."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Every day, for two hours, the inmates were herded out into the yard for some fresh air, and every day, John spent two hours jogging laps around the perimeter. On the first day he'd eyed the set of free-weights that were laid out next to the basketball court, but the guys who used them were huge and didn't appear willing to share. Guerrero was part of their crew, but that was likely to hinder not help any negotiation, so he settled for running followed by a few exercises he could do on his own like push-ups and sit-ups. It was enough to keep him in shape and it kept him suitably distanced from the rest of the yard but god he was bored!

It had been a week and since that first morning he had managed to speak to exactly no one. His cell mates had decided that the best way of dealing with the enemy in their midst was to pretend he wasn't there. It was a childish reaction, but it was one that John could live with. Everyone else seemed to be giving him a wide berth since he'd kicked Vincent in the canteen. Rumour had it that the force of the blow had been enough to break a few ribs and put a tear in his diaphragm, and that Vincent had collapsed on his way to solitary and had been rushed to hospital. John thought that perhaps at least part of that story was true, but he doubted that the MX's had missed the injury, so it was far more likely he'd been his way to the infirmary.

John had been the talk of the yard for a few days now, he'd heard his name whispered as he walked passed, had caught his cell mates trading rumours one night when they were certain he was asleep. Some were true, a few of the newer inmates remembered the raid and mention of his name, from when it had been in the press, although he'd heard one version in which he'd killed his team and then blown his own leg off to make himself look like a victim. News of how he'd ended up in prison had filtered through too, apparently his arrest had been all over the media, but again, some said he'd stolen $300,000, some said it was £3,000,000 and that he'd hidden it over the wall or that he'd killed to get it, or both. The one that amused him most was that he'd been given the money by the government for his services as a hitman and then they'd burned him and tried to cover it up. The more outrageous the story, the more he came across as someone not to be messed with, and so he let the stories run and enjoyed the intimidated looks and the way that others shuffled out of his way when he was looking for a seat at mealtime.

Today though, as he was finishing up his run, a dark haired man in his sixties sidled up to him, hands in his pockets. "Hey, John Kennex right?" He started. He flashed John a nervous smile, and glanced over his shoulder like he was scared of being seen talking with him.

John had to clear his throat, it was the first time he'd used his voice in days, and it came out a little hoarse from disuse. "You know very well that's who I am. What do you want?" Feigning disinterest he started on his push-ups routine.

"My name is Frank Corcoran. I used to work with your father."

John stopped what he was doing and stared at the man. "So you we're a cop?"

"Yeah, I…"

"A crooked cop." John pointed out. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"Hey," Frank replied indignantly, "you're in here with me. How am I any different to you? Or your daddy? He was so high and mighty when we found that money, but I heard he was under investigation too when he was killed. See, the job corrupts the best of us eventually. Sorry about that by the way, I know you and he were close."

"My dad was set up and I proved it. He never did a dishonest thing in his life!" John countered, getting angry.

"Well then he must be really proud of you then!" Frank said sarcastically.

That stopped whatever else John was going to say and his mind went blank for a moment. He'd been trying not to think about what his dad would have thought about all this. He knew the man would have been devastated to see him in this place. He just had to hope the man would have understood why he'd done it. "He always was better than I could ever be." John said coldly, not wanting to discuss his beloved father with this man any more, he certainly didn't want to discuss his reasons for being there either. "Are we done?"

"Look, this talk didn't go the way I'd planned. What I was going to suggest was that you and I stick together."

"No thanks."

"Listen, you may think you can stride round here and that people are scared of you. God knows, you've got one hell of a front kick, but this is a dangerous place, even more so if you used to be a cop. Tensions have been rising here for a while, and if it all kicks of then you may not be able to stay in your little protective bubble of surliness. Have you ever dealt with a prison riot? Because the last one here couldn't be contained for days."

John nodded. "I remember." It had been five years ago, he'd been on a tactical assault team assigned to come in and get everyone in line. It had been a mess and had taken a long time to get under control. One of the prison guards had been tied up and tortured, John's team had found him tied up in bedsheets in the shower with his teeth kicked in. It had been then that the government had decided to trial a prison workforce that was comprised mostly of MXs.

"Well, I predicted that one, could see it coming for weeks. And right now, it feels the same. Probably the only thing containing it right now is the fact you took out Vincent, but when he gets back he's gonna be pissed. You're as good as dead when he does."

John shrugged. "Thanks for the warning." He didn't sound thankful at all, or even that bothered about the prospect. "If I'm such a liability why do you want to be seen with me?"

Frank shrugged, "Because allies are few and far between in this place, and there are even fewer who can produce the level of fear in their first morning than you have."

"How did you survive last time?"

"I got myself sent to solitary for fighting. But I do it again and I have another five years added to my sentence. I was hoping that you and I…"

"Well keep hoping but it's not happening. From what you've said, you're one of those guys who held a gun to my dad's head and threatened to blow it off. Maybe you should think about that solitary plan again." John stalked away, the bell was about to ring to signal the end of yard time and he was done entertaining this man.

What he'd said had been interesting though. He'd felt the tense atmosphere too, but he'd been unsure if he'd been reading too much into it, considering he had nothing to compare it to. Frank was also right about needing allies, John knew that he was being foolish trying to tough this out all on his own, if it came to another fight there was no way he could guarantee it would be a fair one. But he couldn't bring himself to work with someone like Frank, besides the man had proven he was a coward. He wanted to ask Dorian what he thought he should do, he often found himself turning to speak to him, or searching his pocket for his phone to call him, before catching himself and remembering. He'd been cultivating this anti-social personality of his for a while now, but despite that he was beginning to find this isolation tough.

Once back inside he grabbed his towel and headed straight to the showers. As he got in line he found himself behind Guerrero and two of his friends from the weights area. They were laughing about something and talking in rapid Spanish but when John turned up they gave him a glare. John ignored them, as usual and trudged through into the changing area. The shower rooms were relatively small considering the population of the overcrowded prison, so they all showered in shifts, three levels at a time. There was a large changing area with hooks to hang uniforms and towels and then a door lead through to a couple of interconnecting communal shower rooms.

John stripped out of his sweaty jumpsuit, wife beater and boxers, leaving them dumped in a pile on the floor, before padding naked over to the shower room. He entered the nearest room, found a free shower head and pressed the button on the tiled wall, enjoying the feel of hot water soaking his hair and rinsing the sweat from his face. He glanced around the room, Guerrero and his friends were being loud in the corner. Adam was there too, but although they acted like brothers in their cell, they rarely spoke outside it. Everyone was just getting on with showering and John felt like he could afford to relax a little, although he'd never let his guard down.

Suddenly, the room flooded with men hurrying from the adjoining shower area. John turned the water off and listened. There were voices in the room next door, difficult to hear over the noise of the gushing water, but one of them definitely sounded like they were whimpering. John caught Adam's gaze and the young man looked at him in horror and shook his head in warning, but then there was a piercing scream.

John didn't even think before dashing through to the next room. There he found a group of three men that he'd gathered from listening to canteen gossip were friends of Vincent's. They were stood over a fourth man who had been pushed to his knees in front of them. There was blood on the man's face and one of them had grasped his hair and held a crudely made shank to his neck while he tried to force his semi-hard cock into his trembling victim's mouth.

"Get the fuck away from him." John growled, striding over and grabbing the man's own hair and pulling him back with enough force to unbalance him on the wet floor and send him slamming down to the tile. One of the others threw a punch, which John ducked before running at him with his body crouched low and rugby tackling him and slamming him into the wall. He felt the third man's arms tighten round his neck and pull him backward. As he was dragged away, staggering to keep his feet from him under him, he saw that he'd gathered an audience. The other men were all crowded in the doorway, watching, although none of them offered to help. As John was thrown to the floor he found himself looking up at the young man he'd rescued, who was still on his knees, frozen in place with fear.

"Run, you idiot!" John snarled, even as one of the men drove a punch into his face and kicked him in the side. His shout had the right effect. The shell-shocked victim leapt to his feet and dashed out of the room, blood still gushing from his face. He was absorbed into the crowd at the door, not wanting to watch the rest of the battle. "Where is that fucking MX?" John muttered to himself as he scrabbled his hand across the tile, looking for the shank that had been dropped. One of the men kicked him in his exposed crotch, causing him to see stars and curl up in pain, but as he did his fingers closed round the weapon, a toothbrush sharpened to a point and fitted with razor blades, and brandished it at the nearest bully.

It was then that the MX entered, shoving its way through and brandishing its rifle at John. John rolled his eyes at being seen as the most dangerous of the four and dropped the shank, holding his hands up in surrender. The others also held their hands up and stepped back.

"What happened here?" The MX turned and asked the group of men who had been watching. Every single one of them stayed perfectly silent. John glared at Guerrero and Adam but they gave him blank expressions back. When it received no response, the MX turned to the four men. "One week in the isolation cubes for each of you." It must have sent a signal for back-up because suddenly three more MXs turned up and each took the arm of a man to lead them away.

John was hauled up from the floor and frogmarched, naked out of the shower and into the main corridor. He felt everyone's eyes on him as he was taken along a corridor and down a set of stairs to a level he hadn't even known existed before. At the bottom of it was a series of corridors, dimly lit, lined with heavy metal doors. John was lead towards an open door and shoved somewhat unceremoniously through into a bare room with a concrete bed, thin plastic covered foam mattress and a single blanket with a toilet in the far corner. And then the door was slammed shut and he was left there naked and in the dark, save for the tiniest sliver of light coming through a thin grille at the top of the door.

"You're an idiot John." He muttered to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. Now the adrenaline had ebbed away he was shaking slightly which made him angry at himself. He climbed onto the mattress and pulled his legs up to his chest before wrapping the blanket around his still damp body, preparing himself for a long week.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dorian shuffled back and forth on his feet nervously, causing the MX at the door to give him a confused look. Dorian smiled at him, but that just seemed to confuse the MX further as its thought processes tried to work out why an android would be nervous, or felt the need to smile. Then the door opened and Dorian and the other visitors were guided into a room that was dotted with round tables and chairs, all bolted to the floor. Dorian found a spare table that was in the sunlight from the windows that were at ceiling height. He'd seen the dark conditions of the inner prison and thought John might appreciate the light and warmth. There was a metal door at the far end of the room and everyone there watched with baited breath for their loved ones.

When the door did open, Dorian was horrified by what he saw. The inmates were all dressed in their orange jumpsuits and had their hands cuffed. The MXs lead them one by one to their respective family members and them clipped the handcuffs into a strong locking clasp on the table. Dorian had just enough time to realise how much he didn't want to see John like this, and then he saw him.

John was towards the back of the line and shuffling forward with the rest of them. He had his head down, as though he was embarrassed to be seen like this, had a full beard that was starting to look a little unruly, and a large fading bruise over his left eye. Dorian waited until the MX had clipped John into the table before enveloping him in a bear hug that due to his restraints, John was unable to return.

"No touching." The MX ordered and Dorian pulled away.

"I'm sorry." He said sincerely, they'd told them the rules before they went in but in his dismay at seeing John so downtrodden, he'd forgotten.

The pair of them sat down and only then did John look up at Dorian, although his gaze was quickly drawn back down to study his hands on the table. "You shouldn't have come." He said quietly.

"Of course I was going to come." Dorian insisted. "I was going to come last week but they said you weren't allowed visitors." He reached to touch the bruise on John's face but remembered to refrain just in time.

"Solitary." John mumbled. "Caught fighting."

"Fighting? What about? John it's not safe for you in here. You should be in protected custody." Dorian whispered.

John shook his head and looked at him. His eyes were tired and bloodshot but determined. "I'm alright," he said, "I'm holding my own."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, looks it."

"How's the case coming on? No details." John said, glancing round to see who else might be listening.

"I'm more concerned about finding out who set you up and to get you out of here. Detective Stahl is working on it with me, but everything is classified. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."

John shook his head. "Have you spoken to Sandra?"

Dorian looked furious at the mention of their Captain's name.

"She told you to drop it, right?"

"Yeah. She wants me to continue with the case, but I don't understand, she's always fought for you before. She should be marching to city hall and demanding your release." He said bitterly. "I'm sure she's trying but it doesn't feel like she's trying very hard." He said bitterly. "I thought she'd be here today but she told me she couldn't."

"I want you to stop, okay?" John tried to reach out for Dorian's hand, but the chain on the cuffs just clinked and stopped him short. "Please. And lay off Sandra, she'd doing her best in a difficult job."

"But, I…" Dorian stared at the man in front of him. He'd never known him not to fight tooth and nail to get something, and this new him where he just gave up and let it happen scared Dorian. Dorian was furious, how could John not be as well? "Look at your face John! You're going to get killed!" He hissed, realising that some of the others were looking over at them.

John shook his head. "Don't worry about me, just keep working the case."

"The case?" Dorian continued. "I can't even think about the case while you're in here."

"Please let's not fight." John pleaded. The tone of his voice was heartbreaking and it stopped Dorian short.

"I don't want to fight. I just… I really need…" He struggled to find the words, but John's voice was soothing.

"I know Dorian, I know."

"Hey, Kennex!" One of the other inmates shouted across the room. "You'll have to introduce me to your bang bot sometime!"

Dorian stood up to retaliate, but John just rolled his eyes. "Sit down." He told the android. "Just ignore him."

"Is he the one that hit you?" Dorian asked.

John pulled a face, "Nah, I don't even know who that guy is. I'm not some bullied schoolchild Dorian."

Dorian gave him a look of pity that suggested that was exactly how he saw him, John just groaned in response.

"Hey Kennex," The other inmate tried again to get a rise out of him, "When's your next conjugal? If you're into getting fucked by a machine I could help you out with that."

Dorian felt the anger rise in him again it was only John's commanding gaze that kept him in his seat. He did a quick scan of the belligerent man, his name was Alexis Hannity and he'd been convinced for numerous armed robberies. "He's really dangerous John." He warned.

"Listen," John whispered through gritted teeth, "having you fight my battles for me is the last thing I need in here." He said.

On the other side of the room an MX had stepped in and was telling the other inmate to stop. "Hannity, refrain from speaking to other inmates or your visit will be cancelled."

But Hannity had an audience and was clearly loving it. "Bet I can make you squeal little piggy!" He crowed with a cackle.

Then a voice sounded over the tannoy, "Visitation has been cut short for all. MXs, please escort the prisoners back to their cells. You can all blame Hannity and Kennex for the punishment."

"What?" Dorian said in indignation. "But you didn't do anything!"

John just shrugged and stood as an MX approached and unlocked his cuffs from the table. "Don't worry about me Dorian. And stop trying to clear my name, you may not like what you find."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dorian asked, but he doubted that John would've answered even if he hadn't been ushered away. The android was left staring at the door that all the inmates had been herded out of, lost in thought until an MX approached him and made him realise that he was the last one in the room.

"DRN, visitation is over. You may schedule another for two weeks time."

Two weeks? Dorian's heart sank, this was just so unfair. There was no way that John belonged here and another couple of weeks was a long time to survive somewhere as hostile as this. He allowed the MX to lead him out of the room but as the soulless android locked the door behind them Dorian asked him, "Where is the warden's office?"

"On the second floor up the stairs over there." The MX answered, unable to give the request much thought.

"Thank you." He replied and strode in that direction.

"You are not permitted up there." The MX cut him off and blocked his way, but Dorian shoved him aside. He was half way up the stairs when a fat man in a prison guards uniform rushed out of an office door and raced up the stairs after him.

"Fucking brainless piece of junk." The guard cursed, glaring at the MX, before shouting out to Dorian, "And you? Are you defective or what? He said you're not permitted up there."

"I need to speak to the warden about John Kennex."

The guard looked apoplectic, his face going bright red. "The warden will not see you. Besides, he's at a meeting with the Mayor this morning. Any issues you can discuss with me DRN."

Dorian could tell that this man would not listen to a word he said, he'd already been dismissed as being no more than a machine. "I want to know why John Kennex is in general population. He's at risk in there."

The guard laughed. "You need to worry less about him and more about which people you decide to show loyalty to. He's here because he's a bent cop and in here he's done nothing but cause trouble…"

"Well I find that hard to believe!" Dorian argued.

"Bet you found out he was stealing from the lock up hard to believe too. You need to stop worrying about him DRN! They'll switch you off if you don't." He warned.

Dorian knew that the man had a point. Regardless, he certainly wasn't going to win this argument. He'd have to get Maldonado to intervene if he had any hope of protecting John from the outside. With nothing else to say he headed back down the stairs and stormed towards the exit, trying to ignore the guard's laughter echoing down the hall.

* * *

He caught the bus back to the precinct, working out what he was going to say to the Captain. The more he thought about the situation, the angrier he got, until he found himself running diagnostics to make sure there wasn't fault with his charge.

He was angry at everyone; the man who had been taunting John and had caused their visit to get cut short, angry at the guard for dismissing his safety concerns, the Internal Affairs investigators for not believing that John had to be innocent, and at Captain Maldonado for not fighting for him. He even found himself angry at John, who had just seemed to have given up. When he analysed it, that was what angered him the most, John might have his moments when he was angry and depressed, there had been times when he was downright miserable and struggled to drag himself into work in the mornings, but he'd never allowed injustices to slide, how was it he could just roll over and take a punishment that wasn't his to take?

As he entered the bullpen, his thoughts were interrupted by Valerie Stahl who grabbed his arm, "Come with me." She said conspiratorially.

Dorian followed her as she lead him out into the corridor and towards the stairs that lead up to smaller offices.

"I've been speaking to IA again and Captain Lin has agreed to speak to us."

Dorian's anger lessened as his systems were flooded with a feeling of gratefulness. In all this, Valerie had been one of the few on his side. Sure, Rudy would listen to him sympathetically as he ranted about another dead end, but it was Valerie that believed in John just as much as he did, and was prepared to risk her reputation in order to do something about it.

They reached Lin's door and Valerie knocked, "Come in!" was shouted from within.

Valerie opened the door and they entered the small office. There was a middle-aged Asian man behind the desk, which was strewn with empty coffee cups and labelled up data sticks. He looked like someone who was drowning in paperwork, but Dorian found he couldn't summon up the usual sympathy he had for work-swamped detectives. He wondered how many of this man's cases were genuine and how many were malicious accusations like John's.

Lin had a gentle smile but it fell when he saw Dorian. "Stahl, I agreed to speak to you because I thought it might help you to come to terms with what happened. It should be between us, I didn't expect the DRN to show up."

"Dorian is John's partner. If anyone deserves to know then it's him."

Lin looked like he was about to protest further, but instead he sighed and placed a data stick into his computer monitor and spun it round so they could see the screen. "Take a seat," he offered them both. "Stahl, would you like some coffee?"

"No thank you Sir." Valerie was perched on the edge of her seat as he brought up a video recording and clicked play, making himself some coffee while they watched.

The recording was the camera footage from the lock up. It showed John arriving at the front desk and seeming to have a friendly chat with the aging officer at the desk. After he handed a data tablet for the guy to look at, he was allowed into the vast storehouse. The screen switched to a view of the inside, and as he moved purposefully down the rows of exhibits, the motion sensor cameras tracked him. Eventually, he seemed to find what he was looking for and pulled a duffel bag off the shelf. It was still sealed in a plastic evidence bag, but he casually tucked it under his arm and walked out, he even waved at the officer on the desk as he left.

"That bag contained all the cash seized from the home of Captain Barros in the 'Bishop' drug case." Lin explained. "Three hundred thousand dollars"

"Why would Barros have all that cash?" Valerie asked, "he'd never be able to spend it, not since all payments became electronic."

"We don't take cash payments here, but other countries still value the American dollar in note form." Dorian pointed out.

"Your DRN is right on the money, if you'll pardon the expression." Lin said, "also in the bag were three passports with different aliases and an unregistered firearm. It looks like the bag was packed in case a quick getaway was needed."

"But I still don't understand why John would do such a thing? What did he say in his defence?"

"Kennex hasn't said a damn thing to anybody since the moment he was arrested. The only time he even responded to a question was when the judge at his first hearing asked him how he pled."

"And what did he say?"

"He told him he was guilty."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

John had been waiting with baited breath for some sort of retaliation, but so far there had been nothing. It was getting to the point where he wanted something to happen, the anticipation was killing him. The need to be constantly looking over his shoulder was exhausting. He kept up the running during their yard time, wouldn't eat unless he could sit with his back to the wall and a view of the whole room, showers were a regular cause of stress. When a guy paused at the door of their cell on his way back from dinner, John nearly leapt straight off his camp bed, but it was just someone making a quiet delivery, he palmed something into Adam's hand, just out of sight of the camera and then left.

Despite the fact that John had now tried to engage his cellmates in conversation, he was still being ignored, but he didn't have to ask to know what the package was. Adam had been increasingly jittery over the last couple of days, but despite that he waited until lights out, even though his eagerness was obvious. John almost laughed at the stupidity of them both and their badly kept secrets. John would wait until it was dark to uncouple his leg and put it on charge, trying hard to do everything as quietly as possible. Then, once John had settled down and enough time had gone passed to reasonably assume he was asleep, there was a gentle scraping sound as Adam pulled his own hidden box out from under the bed. John allowed him that privacy by shutting his eyes, as the warm glow of a lighter filled the room, and Adam cooked up and injected his heroin. There was always an audible sigh as the drugs started to take effect, as though having the poison in his veins was the one thing that would take some weight off the young man's shoulders. But despite the attempt at secrecy, John then lay in the dark, listening to him breathe, and after it was clear he was out of it, Guerrero would peer down from the top bunk to make sure the younger man was on his side and therefore unlikely to choke if he vomited.

During the day John had to keep looking over his shoulder, but it was the nights that were the hardest. Stretched out on his uncomfortable camp bed, with nothing to distract him but Adam's too-shallow breathing, the faint hum of his prosthetic charger and the loud snores of the man two cells down, his thoughts took dark turns. The stress of being on constant guard was exhausting but even when he was in the relative safety of his locked cell, he was unable to switch off long enough to get some sleep. It was as though he could feel the weight of the building bearing down on him and he was trapped in a labyrinth full of monsters.

In the end, it was nine days after he'd been released from solitary, and almost a month since the start of his incarceration before anything happened. He was walking back up the stairs after dinner towards his cell, when he realised that no one else was coming up the stairs behind him. He froze, unsure whether it would be best to carry on up or go back down. He turned and made his way back down to the canteen. There were patrolling MXs there and as much as John hated them, they would come to his aid if needed. But as he started back down the stairs, two huge men came up to meet him, blocking his path.

There were footsteps on the concrete behind him and he turned to see Vincent, fresh out of hospital and coming towards him, flanked by the three thugs John had taken on in the showers. John could feel his pulse racing as he planted his feet in a fighting stance.

"I hear you've been making waves while I've been gone." Vincent sneered, rolling up his sleeves theatrically. "You're not the law anymore, I am."

"Six of you against one? Yeah, you're really tough." John said with more bravado than he felt. There was no way he was going to be able to fight his way out of this one. He dashed to the bannister and vaulted it, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the flight above as he dropped down to the flight below. He landed a bit awkwardly, catching his left ankle on a step and twisting it. He ignored the flare of pain and started to race down the stairs. There were shouts as the thugs raced after him. He took the stairs two at a time, but he got down to the bottom and found a further two thugs had been posted at the bottom to keep the other inmates out of the stairwell. They had their backs to him, so he ducked his head down and tried to barrel through.

It almost worked, he took them by surprise and he managed to push his way through into the corridor that lead towards the canteen, but then a meaty hand closed around the collar of his jumpsuit and yanked hard. The force of it, took him off his feet and he landed hard on his back. The thug stamped down on his solar plexus and then gave him a kick in the side which had him curl in on himself protectively, as he tried to suck in air and deal with the pain. He could hear the man laughing over him, he tried to get to his hands and knees and crawl away but his legs were kicked out from under him and then someone grabbed his ankles and dragged him backwards and flipped him over.

He found himself staring up at Vincent and his cronies. There were two pinning his legs, and then two more knelt and grabbed an arm each. Vincent delved into his pocket and drew out a syringe full of cloudy liquid. He took the cap off the needle and flicked the vial to get the bubbles out. John realised what was about to happen and tried to throw his attackers off, but there were too many of them. The man holding his left arm dug a thumb into his bicep, finding a vein and cutting the flow off like a tourniquet.

"You bastard!" John growled as he struggled, watching morbidly as Vincent slid the needle into the crook of his elbow. As Vincent pressed the plunger, John could feel the drug enter his vein, it burned slightly going in, but then it sent his arm slightly numb. He fought against the numbness as it spread throughout his body, lessening the pain from the brutal stamp he'd received. It made his head swim and his vision blur, and then he realised he was laughing. The lights were too bright and hurt his eyes, and as someone started dragging him by his feet his stomach lurched and he had to fight the urge to throw up. The feeling was horrible, but at the same time, he was vaguely aware of being relaxed, actually the most relaxed he'd been in years. He couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to see where he was being dragged to, and he found he didn't have it in him to care.

Eventually they dumped him and left. It was darker, which was better on his strained eyes. His lids flickered open and he saw the concrete stairs just inches above his face. His head lolled to the side and his eyes slid shut again.

He had no idea how much time passed before someone shook his shoulder. Something deep in his thought processes told him to fight and he waved an arm to bat the person away. His arm felt like it was made of lead and he knew he'd been ineffective when he was pulled out from where he'd been dumped under the stairs. He opened his eyes and stared at the concerned face of Guerrero.

"Come on cabrón." The younger man muttered as he sat John up and slung an arm round him, hauling him up. John tried to get his feet under him, but he felt boneless and uncoordinated, the best he could do was cling to Guerrero hopelessly, and allow himself to be dragged along, his head draped on the other man's shoulder.

John faded in and out of awareness on the long trek up to their cell. He remembered stumbling up the steps, at one point tripping and sending both him and Guerrero to their knees. He felt it as Guerrero fisted his fingers into John's hair to turn his head so that the retinal scanner at the door would recognise him as being back where he should be. He was helped to his bed and to lay down, but then he felt Guerrero undoing his jumpsuit and he started to panic and push the hands away. Guerrero was muttering something but his brain wouldn't register what it was. He fought feebly against the intrusion, but the younger man was persistent and managed to tug his jumpsuit off, leaving him in his vest and boxer shorts. Suddenly the hands were on his right thigh and were twisting his prosthetic so that it unclipped from the socket. He felt an instant relief at its removal, and looked down to see the scarred remains to his thigh covered in red scratches from his own fingers, something he hadn't even realised he'd done to himself.

* * *

It felt like only seconds had gone by, but when John opened his eyes again, it was because the alarm was sounding to alert them all to breakfast. He groaned and rolled over to face the wall, determined to go back to sleep but someone kicked at his bed. When he turned to glare at the offender, he found Guerrero in the doorway, waiting for him.

"Hey cabrón, you need to get up."

"Why do you care?" John asked grumpily.

"Because if the MXs find you in this state and test your blood, then they'll spin this cell for opiates and we'll all be in the shit."

John cursed under his breath and hauled himself up. His head was spinning and his mouth tasted like metal and rotten garbage. He fumbled with his leg and pulled his jumpsuit on, not bothering to do it up all the way, instead tying the sleeves around his waist. He hurried through his ablutions, sensing Guerrero's impatience, and then followed the younger man out and down to the canteen.

John was served up some unappetising looking eggs and toast and then went to sit in his usual place facing the room with his back to the wall. He was fairly astounded when Guerrero followed him and sat down opposite.

"Look," John started, "I need to thank you for last night. Being seen with me is a bad idea right now, so I appreciate you sticking your neck out for me."

Guerrero just shrugged. "You're not making this easy on yourself man. Picking fights with Vincent?"

"Hey," John said indignantly, "he picked a fight with me, remember?"

"Yeah? Who was that guy in the showers to you?"

"Nobody, I've never spoken to him. Don't even know his name."

"And yet you go barrelling in like you some sort of hero, upsetting the balance of power and pissing off just about everybody who could make your life hell."

"I couldn't just let them rape him." John hissed.

"Yes, you could've. Because now Vincent's gonna want to teach you a lesson. That stuff they dosed you with last night? It ain't no normal heroin, they mix it with some other shit, make it even more addictive. Vincent runs all the drugs trade in here, he is gonna make sure you come crawling on your knees to him, begging to be fucked in exchange for your next hit."

John frowned at the nasty warning, he was about to protest, but as he picked up his fork he realised his hands were shaking so much he'd barely have the motor control to get anything to his mouth. He knew he'd never give in to whatever depraved acts Vincent wanted from him, but he remembered how hard it had been to give up the pain pills during his laborious efforts to learn to walk again, and he knew this wasn't going to be easy.

Guerrero shovelled food into his mouth, watching as John struggled to even get any of his eggs onto his trembling fork. In the end, the older man gave up and settled for drinking his coffee with both hands wrapped tightly round his mug.

"How'd you end up in here anyway?" Guerrero asked eventually. "You don't seem like no dirty cop to me."

John looked up from his coffee and met the man's gaze. "My sister's kid is sick. Congenital heart defect. I stole the money from the lock up to pay for her operation."

Guerrero shook his head sadly, "Man, that's rough. You close to your sister?"

"I didn't even know she existed until about a year ago. She's from my mom's second family. I know it sounds like I'm being scammed but I checked her out, she's the real deal and her little girl really is sick. They're the only family I've got left."

"I can respect that." Guerrero said. "My brother died of an OD four years ago. Man, I woulda done anything for him."

"Is that why you look after Adam?" John asked.

"Yeah, he kinda reminds me of him. And Adam's own brothers have gotten him in unending amounts of trouble. The only reason he's here is that he took the fall for something they did."

"Yeah?" John asked, trying to remain nonchalant, "Like what?"

"I dunno man, some human trafficking shit."

John kept his face blank, but inwardly he smiled.


	7. Chapter 6

Authors Note: Double post tonight, you have Devin Bourdain to thank. You should do so by reading some of her awesome stories. Love to all my followers, favouriters and reviewers. xx

* * *

Chapter 6

John really didn't want to see Dorian that afternoon. Rather than ease up, he was actually feeling worse. He hadn't managed any of his breakfast and yet had still thrown up the small amount of coffee he'd had to drink. He'd spent his yard time trying to sleep it off in the shade of the building but it hadn't helped. A shower had, momentarily, but by the time he'd gotten dressed again, the effort of putting clothes on had made him exhausted and he'd struggled to keep his stomach from protesting the exertion again. By the time the MX came to collect him and escort him to the visitor room, he was pale and clammy and barely still on his feet.

He should have made an excuse and refused to see him, he realised, as he stood in line, ready to go in. His bones ached and his joints were stiff, and the handcuffs chaffed on his wrists, despite them being looser than normal. As he was lead in, he could feel the waves of concern emanating from his partner, who this time managed to restrain himself for fear of getting into trouble again. John kept his head down, not wanting to make eye contact with his friend, but as the MX pulled his hands to clip the cuffs into the table, he slipped and lost his balance.

As his unsteady feet skidded out from under him, he smacked into the table and he hit the floor, caught from going any further by the handcuffs that bit into his skin painfully. Dorian rushed to help, but the MX held him at bay. John hauled himself up into the seat and met Dorian's pity-filled expression.

"What the hell has happened to you?" Dorian asked quietly, his lip quivering.

"Don't look at me like that." John grumbled. "You look like someone just killed your damn puppy." He kept his head down, studied his hands on the table, but realised they were trembling so turned them into fists, to try and hide it. He could feel Dorian analysing him, and it was unnerving.

"You're sick. Have you seen the doctor?"

John shook his head forlornly.

And then it seemed to dawn on Dorian. "Hey man," he whispered, quiet enough that the MX, who had stepped to the side of the room couldn't hear, "are you high?"

"I…" John stumbled over what he was going to say. There was little point in lying to Dorian, he'd always been too good at picking up on body language, but neither was he prepared to give him the truth.

"John, what are you doing to yourself?" Dorian had clearly taken his lack of an answer as an affirmative. "You have to stop. How did you even get hold of any anyway? You're going to end up killing yourself. You have to stay strong, I know it must be hard, but you're worth more than this." The words came out in a whispered torrent of panic.

The amount of concern Dorian was showing was heart-warming, and John found himself thinking how thankful he was to have someone so caring in his life, but all that fell away as he was hit with the realisation that Dorian thought he'd done this to himself. He knew he had a tendency to be a little self-destructive, especially when he and the android had first met, but even in his darkest days he would never have resorted to anything more than a few shots of bourbon. The realisation that Dorian thought him that weak made him well up with unshed tears, and yes, he saw the irony, he thought as he wiped his eyes angrily. It had to be the drugs, he reasoned, they'd made him a mess. More than ever it was beyond him why anyone would want to willingly put themselves through this.

He put his hands over his face and took a few deep breaths. When he'd steadied himself, he looked back at Dorian with a weary sigh. "It's complicated." He said eventually, hoping it was enough to restore some of his friend's faith in him. "You have to trust me."

The silence that followed was damning. John threw his hands back up to his face as he fought back another emotional outburst.

"I do trust you." Dorian said hurriedly, reaching across the table for his friend but stopping himself before he made contact, aware of the MX that was watching the exchange closely. "I trust you. I'm just worried about you that's all. It's killing me to see you in here and worst of all I can't figure out why."

"I know you don't. I'm sorry for that." John said, his voice sounded hollow. Why did these conversations always have to be so difficult?

"Help me understand. I've seen the security footage now. Facial recognition software says it's you, but I just can't believe it. Someone has hacked the computers, or used a FaceMaker or…"

"It's me." John said.

Dorian stared at him, mouth open. "Why?"

"I had my reasons. You'll have to trust me on that too."

"That's why you didn't fight it? That's why Maldonado won't back you up?"

John nodded. He felt sick, and it wasn't just the effects of the drug.

Dorian gave him a long look, "Whatever you did it for, is it worth five years in here?"

John sighed. "I'm hoping it will be."

When Dorian realised that John would give him nothing else on the subject, they moved on to talk about other things. Any sort of work talk was off the table so Dorian passed the time by recounting the night Rudy had made him go bar hopping to try to distract him and when he ran out of those stories, he gave John the highlights of the football games he'd missed. John just sat there, taking comfort in the sound of his partner's voice and the chance for normal conversation, but lacked the energy to participate himself. Thankfully, despite the DRN being full of nervous energy and looking like he was about to scoop him into his arms and march him into the infirmary himself, he, for once, respected John's wishes.

By the time visitation was over, sweat was standing out on John's forehead and he'd been reduced to putting all his concentration into not throwing up on his own feet. He could barely hear what Dorian was saying, and he was actually thankful when the MXs called 'time's up' and he was able to go back to his cell. Dorian gave him a heartfelt goodbye and he was barely able to mumble something back before stumbling out of the room.

When he got back, he ignored Guerrero and Adam who were sat on the lower bunk playing cards again, and he fell face first onto his bed.

"Dude, you look like shit." Guerrero commented.

John responded by groaning into his pillow. "How long does this shit last?"

"Maybe a couple of days. They gave you too much." Adam said. It was the first time the young man had spoken to him since the detective had entered the prison. "You're lucky you didn't OD."

"Yeah, I feel lucky." He snarled. He sank his face into the pillow and closed his eyes.

* * *

He could feel the cold sweat of fear slide down beneath his ballistic vest, the air was thick with the smell of gunfire and blood. His heart pounded in his chest and he gripped the failing body of his partner to his side as he pulled the shorter man along with him on their desperate escape. And then a blast knocked him forward onto the concrete and made his ears ring. With his head pounding he looked over to see the lifeless eyes of Marty Pelham. He felt the emotions well up in him, and then he was hit with the pain. He heaved his body over painfully and stared down in shock at the charred mess of his thigh and the gaping void where his leg used to be. There was a noise to his side and he looked back to Pelham, who was staring at him with dead eyes, and then he blinked.

"What are you doing to yourself John?" Dead Marty asked.

John jumped as he awoke, making the metal frame on his bed creak and rock violently. Once he realised where he was he sank back into the bed and tried to steady his breathing. The light in the room was too bright and he felt shivery and feverish. He looked over at his cell mates who were ignoring him and carrying on with their cards. Sat between them on the bed with his back against the wall was Marty with blood pouring down one side of his face.

"You need to get out of here John." Dead Marty said. "He's going to kill you."

"Shit!" John scrubbed a hand over his face. "What is in this crap?" He looked back but now Dead Marty was stood at the foot of his head, bleeding from the chest wound that had killed him in the raid. "God! Go away, go away, go away!" He muttered.

"Hey Kennex? You okay?" Guerrero asked. The two of them had stopped what they were doing and were staring at him.

"You're not okay, are you John?" Dead Marty said, stepping forward. The blood gushed down his face and was pooling on the floor, drops splashing on the bedsheets. As his old partner stepped forward, John was suddenly filled with an overwhelming fear and he scrambled backwards, tucking himself into the top corner of his bed, against the wall. Dead Marty frowned at him, "What are you doing in here? What would your dad think?"

"Don't bring him into it. He would have understood." John muttered.

"Really?" Dead Marty taunted. "You think he would want you killing yourself in here? Tryin' to make friends with the kind of scum he spent his life putting away? The kind of scum who killed him? Having the shit kicked out of you? Getting fucking high?"

"Shut up." John scrubbed a shaking hand over his face but Dead Marty was still there.

"You still think you're tough enough to do this? Two years of therapy and you're still fucked in the head, with your anger issues and the nights you can't sleep without getting blind drunk. You can barely make it through the work day, why did you think you could survive prison?"

John was so focussed on his former partner that he didn't notice Guerrero until he reached out and touched his arm. John snatched it away, drawing himself further into the corner and wrapping his arms tightly round his legs, knees drawn up to his chest.

"Hey man, you're freaking out." Guerrero said. "I was just gonna give you a little sumthin', take the edge off."

"No." John shook his head rapidly, eyeing the syringe that the young man had in his hand. "I don't want any more of that poison in me."

"Just a little." Guerrero offered. "It'll calm you down. You shouldn't be going cold turkey from a hit that strong."

John shook his head again. He knew he wasn't thinking straight but he knew he didn't want any more of the drug, no matter how bad the come down might get.

"Listen!" Guerrero whispered harshly. "You need to calm the hell down. If the screws find out we're all in trouble."

"I'm not taking any more of that shit!" John cursed, shoving the man away with enough force to have him land on his ass, arms flailing.

"Then you need to get it together man." Guerrero grunted. Adam watched the whole thing in silence. He too seemed nervous and was absentmindedly scratching at his arms. The syringe was probably his and John doubted he'd been happy about offering it up.

John nodded, gulping down a few deep breaths. He knew Marty wasn't real, but he was so vivid, and his condescending voice rang in his ears crystal clear. He closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears to try and block him out, but it just made the voice louder. Dead Marty had now clambered onto the bed with him and was whispering in his ear, "You're too weak for this. Your dad would be so disappointed in how you turned out. Why don't you kill yourself now and put yourself out of your misery?"

In a fit of rage, John yelled, "Shut up!" and swung a punch. Of course his fist flew straight through the image of his friend and the next thing there was a loud crack as his knuckles met the concrete wall of his cell. Agony flared and shockwaves reverberated up his arm. Hot blood spilled out over his cracked knuckles and ran down his hand. John stared down at the injury in shock, the pain had jolted him back to reality for a moment and Marty was gone.

"What the hell is happening in here?" A deep voice sounded. John looked up to see the guard from his first day, Belton, stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. An MX hovered just behind him.

"I… er…" John usually prided himself on being able to talk his way out of most situations but he was struggling to get any of his thoughts in order. But then there was a deep booming sound and then the lights flickered and died. They were plunged into near darkness and then there was a thud as the MX behind Belton thudded to the floor.

"What the hell did you do?" Belton snarled but then his voice was drowned out as someone cheered and other voices joined in.

The cheers got louder and louder and was coupled with the stamping of feet and the rattling of bars building to a crescendo and echoing throughout the building. Then a voice rang out clearer than the rest, "Have you pissed your pants yet Belton? We're coming to get you!"


	8. Chapter 7

Authors Note: I feel that somewhere along the lines I should have apologised for all the bad language in this fic, especially as I've just read a story in which even the word hell had asterisks in. But what can I say, criminals and stressed police officers swear.

Enjoy this next one and let me know what you think.

* * *

Chapter 7

"You need to get in here." John hissed, grabbing the guard's arm and yanking him into the cell.

"I'm not going anywhere near you," the guard protested, "you lured me in here."

"Shut up and get under the bed." John ordered, with enough authority for the guard to obey. It was a tight fit for the man but he shuffled under John's camp bed and in the dim light it would be difficult for anyone to see him.

"What happened to the MX? Will he wake up?" Belton wondered aloud, fear clear in his voice.

"Someone is jamming their frequency." John said. "I've seen it before. They won't wake up without a system reset."

"Can you do that?"

"No." John frowned.

"Who would have the tech to jam them?"

"High value organised criminals, any number of terrorist organisations, an anarchist who's good with computers? Bigger question is, how is your security so lax they were able to get it in here? Hey Guerrero, that MX outside our door is going to draw attention. Give us a hand and we'll get it in here." Together they took hold of the robot and dragged it. The thing was heavy but they gripped an arm each and pulled it in, shoving it under the other bed so that it was tucked out of sight. The whole process caused further pain in John's hand, he guessed he'd cracked at least one knuckle if not two or three, but it also gave him a focus, anchoring his mind to the task at hand and keeping his ghosts at bay.

Outside the cell, it sounded like all hell had broken loose. There were cheers and shouts and the sound of stuff being smashed. Someone somewhere was sobbing loudly and the accompanying wet thuds suggested he was being beaten to a pulp. John had to stop himself from going out to help. The sounds were horrendous but he had to tell himself that he couldn't protect everyone, not without getting himself killed. Besides, there were people in the room with him that needed him too.

"Hey!" Someone appeared at the door. The only light was coming from the cloud covered sky beyond the skylight so with the dim backlighting it was almost impossible to tell who it was. "You seen that guard around here?" John didn't recognise the voice but the tone was laced with a dangerous anger.

Guerrero stood up and went to the door. "Yeah, the pussy ran passed as soon as the lights went out. You checked the stairs?"

The man in the doorway stood where he was. Even though John couldn't see him properly he could feel his eyes boring into him. He lay on his bed, still shivering with fever and hoped that he looked pathetic enough to be ignored.

"What the hell happened to him?" The man pointed.

"He got stuck yesterday with a crap ton of 'Vincent's Special', man, he's off his face."

"Oh," the sinister man said, and then chuckled. The chuckle turned into a nasty guffawing laugh. "Have fun with that five-oh." He addressed John before striding off, presumably to look for the guard.

"We have to get him out of here." Adam said as soon as the man left. "I am not getting killed because people think I helped a screw."

John was on his knees suddenly and reaching under the bed towards the MX. "We need somewhere we can secure and wait for this to get dealt with." He found what he was looking for and pulled out the MX's extendable baton.

"Wait!" Belton said, crawling out from under the bed. "There is no 'we'! You must think I'm a fool to team up with you."

John shot him an exasperated look. "I'm probably the only one in here who will lift a finger to protect you. Don't make me change my mind"

"You're a traitor and a junkie."

"No, but you are the person who is supposed to be in charge here. Doesn't that make it your responsibility to make sure people aren't pinned down and forcibly injected with shit that shouldn't even be in here?"

"Stop it." Guerrero snapped, trying to bring them back to focus. "What's the plan here?"

"We need to get somewhere we won't be found. Barricade ourselves in somewhere. Any suggestions?" He glared at the guard who seemed to crumble under the pressure.

"The infirmary." Belton whispered. "It's on an isolated power grid, so the doors should still lock."

"I ain't goin' with you." Adam said quietly.

"What? No, you have to come with us." John snapped.

"Hell no! If I'm seen with you and that bastard," he indicated Belton with a jut of his chin, "then I'll get killed when we all get back to normal."

"I can barely see two feet in front of my face, no one will notice." John pointed out.

"I'm not going." Adam said, trying to act tough but failing to convince anyone.

John nodded. "Okay." He held the baton in two hands like he was going to hit a baseball with it, the pain in his right hand making it impossible to hold it properly and then he stepped out into the corridor. It was slightly lighter outside the cell, there appeared to be a slight break in the cloud above, shining a faint beam of light to cut through the shadows. He looked left and right, to see if the coast was clear, which it was, but then the air was cut through with a bloodcurdling scream.

The noise echoed round the building, making it difficult to pinpoint the location, although he could tell it was a few levels above his current position and seemed to belong to the person who had been crying. There was another thud, and another scream, this time more muffled. John's heart sank, he couldn't listen to it anymore. He turned back to his small group and sighed. "Stay here, Belton, get back under the bed, wait for me." And he ran off towards the screams.

The stairwell was closed off and therefore almost pitch black. He took the stairs two at a time, moving up the flights of stairs quickly, being careful not to exhaust himself should he need to fight when he got to his destination, He found that all the running over the last month had helped, but the effects of the drug were dragging him down and the sudden movement was making him want to throw up. Day to day, the prison had been split into sections, to make the inmates more manageable and to stagger meal, shower and yard times as a way of dealing with the overcrowding, but now the heavy metal doors that split the building up every ten levels were wide open.

He got as far as level twelve and was now sure the person being attacked was on the floor above him, but it was difficult to tell in the confines of the stairwell. He came out onto the twelfth floor momentarily and came to the wall that protected anyone on the walkway from the drop below. He looked up to the level above and listened, to see if he could confirm where the fight seemed to be taking place. And then the man screamed again and suddenly a body was sailing down in front of John. John caught a glimpse of blue uniform and flailing arms as the man fell, he reached out to grab for him, and his fingers skimmed the cloth of the man's shirt, but couldn't get a grip and he watched helplessly as the man thudded to the bottom, landing heavily on the tiled floor below.

John stared down at the broken body below him. It was a guard, laying sprawled in a beam of sunlight, thick black blood oozing from a shattered skull. John had seen falls from that height before, and he could tell, even from this far away, that the man was dead instantly. His face was a pulpy mess and there was blood staining his shirt, but perhaps the worst thing was that his trousers and underpants had been pulled down and were pooled at his ankles. John dreaded to think about the specifics of what the guard had endured.

"You should have gotten to him sooner."

John looked up to see Dead Marty stood beside him, peering over the side with him at the dead man. "I couldn't." John whispered, even though the rational part of his mind was telling him that his friend wasn't really there.

"You heard him, they were torturing him and you let them do it." Dead Marty continued, he was inches away from John's face and angrier than John had ever seen him in real life. "You could have saved him but you didn't."

"I tried." John insisted, but the guilt weighed heavy on him and he knew he could have tried harder. He turned his back to the macabre scene and sank to the floor. He leant heavily against the wall and sat with his legs drawn up to chest. He rested his arms on his knees and stared at his rapidly swelling hand.

"What are you doing now?" Dead Marty sat down beside him, mimicking his posture. "You just gonna sit there and feel sorry for yourself? 'Cause you're good at that, isn't that what you've been doing for the last two years?"

John ran a shaky hand over his face. He was still feverish and the sweat had dampened his hair and plastered it to his forehead. He was suddenly aware of someone stood over him, he looked up to see one of the biggest men he'd ever seen looming in the stairwell.

"Not seen you before, what are you doing up here?" The man growled.

"I… nothing. I'm just on my way." John scrambled to his feet.

"Hey, I know you." The man said. John noticed his hands clenched into fists and the blood that was dripping from his knuckles. "You're that cop from A sector. You shouldn't have come up here."

John frowned, "You've got the wrong guy, but you're right. I shouldn't have come up here."

The man stepped forward and placed his hands on each side of the door frame, his muscled body was so huge he took up the whole doorway.

"Boy, you always did know how to win friends and influence people." Dead Marty said sarcastically. John shot him a look, which caused the big man to frown as he tried to work out what he was looking at. But John's hand tightened around his baton and flicked it, causing it to extend out. He held it up with both hands, his broken hand could barely grip.

The thug laughed and stepped forward, throwing a punch, but John ducked and swung his baton low, catching the man's knee. There was a resounding pop as the joint gave out and the man roared as his knee collapsed and had to grasp the wall to keep himself upright. John shoved the man aside and bolted. He was almost through the door when he felt a hand grasp a fistful of his jumpsuit. He shoved the man away and his jumpsuit ripped as he pulled free. John raced for the stairs and didn't look back.

He pushed passed crowds on the stairs, but thankfully it was so dark he hadn't been recognised. The noise had increased almost tenfold on the lowest levels, a group of prisoners had forced their way into the kitchens and were tearing them to shreds. By the time he made it back down to his cell he was breathing heavily and was feeling even worse. The brief shot of adrenaline that had allowed him to escape the great hulking killer upstairs, was draining from him and he had to blink away dark spots that were dancing in front of his vision. "Come on." He said to his little group. "We have to get out of here."

Guerrero and Belton looked ready to leave but Adam stood firm. "I'm not going with you."

"Yes, you are." John said in a voice that should have brooked no argument, but it didn't sway the younger man.

"Why do you care?"

John sighed, "Because it's become painfully obvious I've fucked this whole thing up."

"Fucked what up?" Guerrero said in shock but John was carrying on his explanation anyway.

"Your brothers, they're involved with a human trafficking ring, it's why you're here. They sold you out. We caught them a couple of months ago, they're in jail awaiting trial. But they're not giving up the top guys. So we were trying a different tactic. But I've been in here a month and I've clearly failed to get any kind of headway. You trust me less now than you did the day I got here, but you've not given anything away to Guerrero either…"

Guerrero looked sheepish as he realised the conversation they'd had that morning had been more than just idle gossip, he'd been played for information.

"Being outed as a cop on my first day didn't help but maybe I'm just rusty at this and so caught up in my own head that I couldn't focus. Anyway, this riot has fucked things up for all of us and it's probably gonna get me killed, so here's my last chance, tell me what you want in exchange for the names and locations of the guys at the top and I'll make it happen, and if I don't make it out of here then you can ask to speak to my boss, Captain Maldonado, she'll honour it."

Adam looked at him in disbelief then spat, "Fuck off!" and then stormed out.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"We are getting nowhere!" Detective Paul complained as he hung up his phone and clenched his fist around it as he thought about throwing the offending tech. "That was an old informant of mine. He was begging for a favour in exchange for information, but the intel was at least three months old!"

Dorian and Valerie gave him sympathetic looks. They were sat in a small diner opposite a warehouse flat that had been used as a brothel. They'd found two skinny young women there, with bullets in their heads and the fire escape door open. The working theory, based purely on the track marks and emaciation of the women, was that the others had taken off in a hurry and these two, unable to move through illness, had been executed so they wouldn't talk. It had been one more horrible scene in a list of horrible scenes. They'd finished their work there and left the rest to the CSI's and a team of MXs who would bag the evidence and guard the scene, the bodies already removed to the morgue. They were meant to be on their way back to the office, but the scene had been so horrific that all three of them had been feeling strung out and a bit tearful, so Dorian had dragged them into the diner so they could take a breather before carrying on with their work.

The android studied his human colleagues as they sat with him in the booth, gratefully accepting the coffee that the waitress was pouring them. He was sat next to Valerie, who looked exhausted, she was normally perfectly put together but now her blouse was rumpled and wisps of hair had slipped from her ponytail. Her mascara was smudged and Dorian could tell that when she'd slipped out for five minutes earlier, it had been to have a quick cry. Richard Paul wasn't handling it any better, he was coiled like a spring and looked ready to break something. Dorian understood them both, they'd all seen some horrific things in their time as officers, but this investigation just seemed to be getting no further ahead, and as time wore on and the body count piled up, it was hard not to blame themselves for not solving it faster.

In the last month, Dorian too had become ever closer to understanding how the other DRNs had malfunctioned. As desperate as his colleagues to track down the remaining slaves, he had devoted every moment to working the case or trying to find a way of getting John back. He could see the strain that they were all under and had worked almost twenty-four hours a day in an attempt to ease the load on his colleagues. He knew he'd been getting frustrated about it, but he hadn't realised quite how much it had shown until he had been called into Maldonado's office and had found her and Rudy, both with concerned expressions on their faces.

Maldonado had been stressed too and had been spending the last few months getting tougher and more short-tempered with her team as she pushed them to get the job done. But this time she had started with an apology, "I'm so sorry, I promised John I would look after you…" After that, he'd found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying, as realisation had hit him. Physically he couldn't tire, as long as he got a quick charge every night he could keep going indefinitely, but of course it would take a toll on him mentally like it would everyone else. He felt sadness, anger, frustration the same as any human, he suspected more so sometimes as he hadn't had the years that other officers had to learn to harden themselves. And on the back of that thought was the understanding that John had always known this. Every time, he'd dragged him out for noodles when Dorian had felt he should be working, the inane conversations to distract him, the times he wound the robot up to get him to let off steam. Dorian had always seen John's penchant for pulling him away from work to be a little immature and unprofessional, but the reality had been quite the opposite, the human had seen how much Dorian could be emotionally affected by their work and had tried his hardest not to make sure it had overwhelmed him.

He'd been sent away with orders not to do any work for two days, or longer if needed. He spent the next few days with Rudy, watching movies, playing chess and even went for a long hike, even though the scrawny Englishman looked like he'd never walked anywhere in his life. Despite thoughts of John and the case preying on his thoughts, he'd been surprised to find that it helped, and he'd come back to work exactly forty-eight hours after he was sent home, with a new self-awareness and a determination to look after his colleagues in the same way that John had always looked after him.

It was this new determination that had him desperately trying to engage the two drained detectives in a conversation about the previous night's football game when Paul's phone rang again. Dorian fell quiet as the man answered, "Hey boss." He listened for a moment, nodding before promising, "we were on our way back, we just needed to grab a coffee first." He said guiltily, "We're in the diner across the street."

He hung up the phone just as the door to the diner opened and Maldonado walked in. Valerie leapt up nervously, "We're sorry Captain, we are on our way back right now."

Maldonado frowned at the behaviour. "You're allowed to have coffee detectives. But we need to talk." Paul shuffled over in the booth and offered her a seat but she shook her head. "Not here. Let's go for a walk, bring your coffee with you."

They all filed out after their Captain, Valerie making sure left enough money to cover the coffees on the table. They walked in uncomfortable silence until they made it the two blocks down to the river. Years ago when the city had been undergoing regeneration as part of the attempt to draw the robotics industry, the whole riverside had been redeveloped with trees walkways and cycle paths, but the industrial areas around the wall had already started to show signs of neglect. Aside from one aging woman shuffling along with her pug, the riverside was void of people.

The waited for the woman and her wheezing dog to get out of ear shot before Maldonado addressed the small group. "There's been an incident at John's prison."

"What happened?" Dorian blurted out, voicing the panic that they were all feeling. The android had been dreading this conversation since the day his partner had entered that awful place. Having visited him there and seeing his injuries and the toll it was taking on him had made his fear even worse.

"We've lost contact with everyone inside and the blast doors are locked down, no one can get in or out."

Dorian felt a mix of relief and horror. He'd been sure the Captain was going to say that he'd been stabbed, but then realised that perhaps not knowing what was happening to him would be worse.

"I'm going to go down to the site, the riot teams are on their way. I'm going to need you guys to carry on with the investigation and I'll keep you updated."

That was the last straw, Dorian was not going to carry on as normal while John's life was in danger. In a fit of anger, he kicked at the railings that ran along the riverside. "He shouldn't even be in there!" He roared.

Maldonado's face fell and she ran a hand over her face to try to regain her composure. "I know." She sighed.

"What?" Paul asked with disbelief. The shorter detective had made his opinions well known, he'd been very vocal about how he believed John had betrayed them. But he could see from the expression on her face that now wasn't the time to mention it.

"John's cellmate is Adam Zebingew, he is the youngest of the Zebingew brothers who you arrested a few months ago in the trafficking case. He's only nineteen and a year ago took the fall for his brothers in a drugs bust, so he was deemed to be the most vulnerable. It was John's plan to enter the prison undercover and gather information from him. We were hoping he'd be out again by now, but it looks like Adam is more tight-lipped than we expected."

"You shouldn't have let him do it." Dorian said, less angry now but no less upset. "He's not safe there."

"I tried to talk him out of it. He's struggled since the coma, and I told him that I thought it would set back his recovery. The isolation, it's not good for him. But he insisted and once the senior leaders heard about the idea it was out of my hands."

"Why did it have to be John then? There are plenty of officers who could've done it." Stahl said.

"We didn't have long to create a cover." Maldonado explained. "John suggested that due to his history that people could believe he would turn; the psych evaluations, the anger management, the suspicions around his father, it's all there. And he can be very persuasive when he wants to be."

Dorian bristled at the way his partner's vulnerabilities had been so casually exploited, even if it had been his idea in the first place. It was those same vulnerabilities that should have been used as reasons to stop him from doing it. John had always been one to push himself to his limits, especially if he thought it could save lives. Dorian had confronted him about it once, after the human had done something particularly suicidal, and he'd coolly told him that his life didn't mean as much as other peoples. He'd refused to elaborate, and once he'd seen how much he'd upset the android, he'd tried to take it back, but Dorian had known that John had believed his statement to be true. After educating himself extensively on human psychology, Dorian had come up with his own amateur diagnosis of depression, abandonment issues and an overwhelming need to atone for the deaths of eleven men that he still blamed himself for. John needed rescuing from that prison, but perhaps more importantly, he needed rescuing from himself.

"Why didn't he tell me?" Dorian asked sadly.

"I wanted to tell you." Maldonado said, "It's been awful watching you so miserable and angry. But John made me promise I wouldn't. There was evidence to suggest that our servers were being hacked. If they'd hacked you then this whole thing would have been compromised. That and you're not a good liar Dorian. Besides, I think John thought you'd talk him out of it."

"So why are you telling us now?" Paul asked. Dorian noted that the man at least managed to look sheepish. The detective had said some truly awful things about John after his arrest.

"Because I'm pulling the plug on the whole operation. I've spoken to management, they want us to keep going, but it's getting too dangerous. They can bump me back down to foot patrol for all I care, I'm extracting John now. Paul, Stahl, I promise I will update you as soon as I know anything, but I need you to carry on working. The two of you are in charge of the precinct until I get back, call me if you need anything. Dorian…"

"I'm coming with you Captain." Dorian interrupted firmly.

"I thought you might say that." Maldonado nodded, ignoring the insubordination, which was much more typical of John than his mild-mannered partner. "Come on, the SWAT team should be on their way by now."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

John found it most embarrassing that he'd thrown up, twice, on his way to the infirmary. Thankfully he'd had the presence of mind to stuff his toothbrush into his pocket before leaving the cell, and he was dying to use it now. He'd never been very good with nausea, the morphine in the hospital had made him sick with it and in a lot of ways it had been one of the hardest parts of his rehabilitation. Waking up from a fifteen month coma, when the last thing you remember was staring at the blackened stump of your right thigh, was bizarre to put it mildly. All the doctors were telling you that you'd been already healed, but your mind told you that you should be in agony. For a long time, John had had pain in a limb that no longer existed as shredded nerve endings sent a barrage of mixed messages to his battered brain and then to top it off, the only thing that took the pain away made him feel wretched in other ways, turning the whole thing into a balancing act as he tried to work out which was the lesser of two evils.

It hadn't just been the leg, in his shell-shocked state laying in that alley, he'd barely been aware of the burning in his lungs from the inhaled bomb residue or of the headache that had been a sign of the swelling that was beginning to press on his brain, the side of his skull cracked from his impact with the cement. Catastrophic organ failure had been the term used by the doctors, although it had been the cerebral oedema that had been the reason for the prolonged stay in the coma. That had left him with migraines that he still suffered now, and somehow the migraines and phantom leg pain had gotten linked, hitting him with a double whammy every time he was too tired or overstressed. For a long time, prescription opiates had been the only thing getting him through the day.

He had a migraine now, whether from stress or withdrawal from the drug he couldn't tell. His head was pounding and his vision was blurred. He was thankful for the near dark as he navigated through the corridors, but even so, the slightest movement made the room spin and his stomach lurch. He needed to get to his destination, and soon, because he couldn't put up with much more of this crap.

He glanced back at Belton, who was nervously shuffling along behind clutching at John's synthetic charger that he'd made the man carry, as soon as he'd realised the guard would be even more useless in a fight than a strung out, hallucinating cripple with a broken hand. It made John wonder how the man had ever passed the physical to get the job in the first place.

When he'd proposed his idea, he'd had a small team, and at least Guerrero had looked capable of holding his own, but then he'd opened his big mouth and suddenly it had become him and the spiteful guard against the whole prison. The panicked guard had completely lost that 'hard man' persona that he'd pretended to have on the day that John had been interred, and was now looking like he'd be a liability rather than an asset. But there were men in there who were out for the guard's blood and so to leave him now would be like sentencing him to death. At least Belton appeared to have comprehended that, from the way he shuffled along closely to the detective, which hopefully would make him eager to follow orders.

The path to the infirmary was windowless and as they turned a corner, leading them further away from the central atrium, the darkness became absolute. From here, they'd have to make their way there by memory. It shouldn't be too difficult, John had never been there, but Belton had said it was straight on, third corridor on the left, followed by second door on the right. He lightly traced the wall with his fingertips, and listened to the sound of their heavy breathing and muted footsteps.

His heart pounded loudly and the blood rushed in his ears. It was like being in a horror movie, and he was convinced that someone would leap out at him at any moment, but instead his foot impacted into something and he stumbled. There was a groan from the floor and then a slurred snarl of "Fuck you," as he realised he'd tripped over someone slumped in the hallway.

"Are you alright man?" He asked, his first thought that someone had been injured and had collapsed on their way to the infirmary. He crouched beside the man and reached out at what he hoped would be shoulder height, but as he leaned his weight forward his shoe crunched against something on the floor and he realised he was standing on a used needle. "Another fucking junkie." He muttered as he stood, shaking his head. He placed a hand on Belton's shoulder and guided the man round the obstruction.

Eventually, they could see a thin sliver of light from under the heavy door to the infirmary. He could feel Belton beside him reach out to open the door, but John grabbed him and made him stop. "Wait!" he hissed angrily. "What's the layout in there?"

"Waiting room big enough for ten seats. Doctors and nurses offices through the door to the left, main ward on the right and through that are two further isolation wards for infectious or dangerous prisoners."

"Locks?"

"Biometrics. Fingerprint access."

"Good. We could be there a while. Bathrooms in the offices?"

"A shared one interconnecting the two."

"Okay," he could hear shouting and laughter from behind the door, it sounded like there were quite a few people in there. "Ignore everything else, just sprint for the doctor's office, get it unlocked, I'll watch your back." Belton nearly went for the door again but John stopped him again, "Hey," he warned. "This thing is not over by a long way, just remember if you screw me, I won't be able to help you the rest of the time."

Belton nodded vigorously. John pushed open the door and then raced across the waiting area towards the offices but they suddenly stopped in their tracks. The reinforced glass window of the nurse's office had been smashed in. There was still an IV pole hanging suspended in the glass that had clearly been used as a weapon. Inside the room was a metal cabinet that had been wrenched open somehow and its contents scattered everywhere. Predictably, all the medication had done.

There was nobody in the waiting area, although it sounded like there was a party happening in the ward. "Wait here." John whispered as he secured his baton into the tied arms of his jumpsuit that were around his waist and then climbed through the window into the room, his feet crunching through the shattered glass on the floor. The first thing he did was go through the bathroom at interconnected the two offices. He opened the door to the doctor's office but a quick glance revealed a large tattooed man fast asleep and snoring on the examination bed. He closed the door as silently as he could and went back to the other room.

After hunting around for a few minutes in the wreckage that had been left by the previous scavengers, John found a moulded plastic support for his hand and wrist. For a second he was surprised to have found one that encased and stabilised his fingers as well, but then figured that injuries from punching things were probably some of the most commonly treated in the small office. He slid it on, biting his lip against the pain it caused, and secured the Velcro as tightly as his swollen hand would allow. As he was about to leave his gaze landed on an orange container of familiar-looking pills. He picked them up and rolled them in his palm, he was right, they were the extra strength narcotics he'd taken when he'd first been released from the hospital. They would take the pain out of his hand, and most likely ease his migraine too, but he'd had a hard time coming off them once before, and he still had no idea what was currently in his system.

He was about to pocket them anyway when there was a shout and his attention was drawn to Belton and the man who had just stumbled into the waiting area. There was a moment when the man looked Belton up and down, taking in the blue shirt and trousers and then swung a fist, connecting with the guard's jaw. The guard staggered back, slipped and fell to the floor, hard. John hadn't been seen yet, it occurred to him that he could duck down behind the window sill but then the prisoner shouted out to his friends in the other room, "Hey, look what I found!", and John knew he couldn't just hide while they beat him to a pulp.

He crawled back through the window and pulled his baton out, swinging it wildly at the man as he stood protectively over Belton, as the man scrambled to his feet. The doors to the wards opened again and two more men came out. Belton had dropped the synthetic limb charger, so John snatched it up, hefting the heavy machinery into his arm and barked, "Run!"

John kicked the nearest man away, causing him to bowl into another one, and then took off, through the double doors into the ward, without waiting to see if Belton was following. He'd figured that there would be more prisoners inside, but his estimation had been way off. It turned out that because the infirmary was the only place with a working electricity supply, a whole load of people had congregated there. His only hope was that he could run the gauntlet of thugs and get to the far end before he was taken down. The whole exercise would be irrelevant though if he didn't have Belton and his fingerprint access. He looked behind him and saw the prison guard, horrified as it dawned on him what they were about to do. Seeing the older man was about to back out, John grasped his collar and shoved him ahead.

They ran in tandem down the length of the room. There were beds laid out on either side, some of them occupied but not all by sick people. In fact, very few looked like they had a need to be there, the others had all just come for the electricity and the free drugs. There was a whoop from one of them as soon as he saw the guard's uniform, John really wished he'd been able to find a jumpsuit for the guy to blend in with. Those who could get out of bed, or those not in a bed at all, started to close in on them. Their way was obstructed by two MXs that had collapsed during the power down and had been left in the middle of the room. John found an extra burst of speed, leapt over the androids and found himself dragging Belton along with him.

He was running so fast that his momentum slammed him shoulder-first into the wall beside the doors to the side rooms. Both had curtains pulled over the toughened glass windows so there was no indication of which one would be best. He shoved Belton at the nearest door and then turned, pressing his back against the wall and swinging and kicking out at the men who tried to come near them. They'd clearly heard of the damage his synthetic leg could do, some of them would have been in the canteen when he'd kicked Vincent, and were wary of getting too close, but one of them picked up a blood pressure monitor and threw it at him. He brought his arms up to shield his face, and the heavy machinery crashed into his forearms causing so much pain that he was temporarily stunned. The lapse in concentration was enough for the crowd to surge forward, but then Belton grabbed his arm and pulled him through the door.

The two men got inside and pushed up against the door to try to get it closed. The prisoners on the other side tried hard to shove their way in, jeering and laughing, joking about what they would do to Belton if they caught him. John braced himself against the wall and kicked viciously at the door with enough force to get it closed. As the lock clicked onto the latch, both men stepped back and breathed a sigh of relief.

They turned, both breathing heavily and looked at the room, only now realising they weren't alone. There was a shirtless, tattooed man in the bed. His mid-section was heavily bandaged and he'd been placed in leather cuffs, tying both his wrists and ankles to the bed. He gazed at them with bloodshot eyes, one of those eyes was severely bruised, and his jaw had been wired shut so it could heal. He'd clearly come off badly in a fight, but also, he was not one to be underestimated, even if he did currently appear to be in no fit state to fight anyone. Stood with him, nervous and with their backs to the far wall, were a male and a female nurse, both dressed in light blue scrubs. The woman was older, perhaps in her fifties, with frazzled dyed hair scraped into a harsh ponytail, the man was younger, still in his twenties, he looked like he'd barely made it out of nursing school. They both looked scared.

"Hey," John held his hands up in a show of surrender, "We're not going to hurt you. We just want somewhere to lay low until all this calms down. My name's John." He was interrupted by a loud crash against the window. He peered round the curtain and saw the glass had spider-web cracks fanning out from an impact point in the lower corner. Something heavy had been thrown at it, he guessed it was the blood pressure monitor, but the glass had stayed intact. "We're okay." He reported to the rest of the room. He turned to inspect the door that they'd just rushed through. It looked sturdy, he deemed it would hold. The ceiling was concrete, like the rest of the building, the ventilation too small to fit through. If the glass window could hold out they'd be safe.

"What's happening out there?" The woman asked.

"Someone's shut off the power and has jammed the MXs. It's chaos out there." John said.

"In the event of a power outage, the outside walls have a failsafe. We're sealed in until they can find a way to take back control of the power grid." Belton explained further.

"So there's no way out, at all?" The younger nurse said, his voice high-pitched with panic.

"Hey, it'll be alright," John said soothingly, "they'll get things back to normal eventually, we'll be safe in here until they do." He purposefully avoided mentioning the weakened window, and the smashed one in the nurse's office. Instead he gestured for Belton to come closer and whispered in his ear. "Listen, I'm still feeling like shit. I need to sleep this off. Keep an eye on that window and wake me if anything happens, we'll take watch in shifts okay?"

"They can fucking fail me if they want, I'm never come back here again. Fuck this for a fucking work placement." The young nurse was muttering. So, not even out of college yet, John surmised, no wonder he was scared. He was too tired and in too much pain to be particularly soothing though, so he ignored him. He horrified the poor boy even further when he found a spare electrical outlet for his charging device and then stripped to his vest and boxers so he could uncouple his leg. The socket came apart with a firm twist and he placed the leg in its charging dock, ignoring the looks he was getting from the others, before bundling up his jumpsuit and using it as a pillow as he lay on the floor. The female nurse didn't miss a beat though and handed him down a spare blanket that had been folded at the bottom of the patient's bed. John accepted it gratefully and within minutes was fast asleep.

* * *

He woke again, hours later, with a dry mouth but a reduced headache. He lay perfectly still, his eyes still closed as he listened to the hushed conversation of the guard and two nurses.

"No, he says he's undercover and I think I believe him. Anyway, he's about the only one in here who has helped me so far..."

The woman muttered something that John couldn't make out, but then Belton answered again, "No, I know Maria. I'm sure they're doing everything they can to get us out of here."

They were then interrupted by another loud bang, and a shout from outside the room. It had John leaping upright and snatching his leg off the dock. As he pulled it on and heard it click, a little voice told him, "Charge incomplete." He struggled into his jumpsuit, muffling its next sentence, "Synthetic calibration failed," and tying the arms of it round his waist again. There was another loud bang and the window reverberated under the impact. John leapt clumsily to his feet, finding the baton that he'd stolen from the MX.

"Fie, Fi, Foe, Fum." A deep voice called out in a mockery of the old fairy tale giant. "I smell… pussy." Even without seeing him, John could imagine the leer on the man's face.

"Quick, everyone into the bathroom and lock the door." John hissed, ushering them all through. There was another bang, and this time it was accompanied by the sound of smashing glass, they were getting through. He nearly followed them, but then realised with the effort they were putting in to smashing the window, that they'd be through the bathroom door in no time too. Their only chance was to hope he could fight them off. So he stood his ground, gritted his teeth and got ready to do battle.

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Authors Note: So, I've left you on our mid-story cliffhanger. There will be a brief hiatus of a few weeks while real life gets in the way, but I promise I will be back soon. Thanks to everyone who has already let me know what they think, and especially to Devin Bourdain who is awesome and a sweetheart and whose stories you should definitely be reading. Much love x


	11. Chapter 10

Authors Note: So sorry for the long hiatus, it took me longer to deal with my real life problems than I'd expected. But I'm back now and hope you enjoy this next instalment. And as always remember that reviews are motivation.

* * *

Chapter 10

John closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths, it occurred to him to run, but only briefly, he'd managed to find possibly the only three innocent people in this entire hellhole and he wasn't prepared to leave them, especially when one of the men on the other side of the glass was waxing lyrical about what he wanted to do to the female nurse when he got hold of her.

There was another loud smash and glass rained down on the floor. The curtain moved, someone cursed in pain as they caught themselves on broken glass and then a pair of legs appeared sticking out from beneath the curtain. John took his baton and whipped it across the back of the intruders legs. They gave out under the sharp pain, and the man tumbled to the floor, catching the curtain and yanking that off the wall as he went. He cracked his head against the foot of the bed, waking up the patient in it, who started to curse a blue streak despite his jaw being wired shut.

The room was exposed now, and John could see there were seven men with fists clenched, ready to storm the small room. The one who'd fallen in had cut his arm, there was blood on the window and it was soaking into the sleeve of his jumpsuit. He was trying to get to his feet so John threw a left-handed punch to his face and he went down in a heap.

More men were climbing through the window and then one reached through and grabbed the latch for the door. With the door unlocked, the rest of them swarmed in and suddenly he was surrounded. John grabbed the bed that the patient was on, kicking the brakes off the wheels and swinging it round to put it between him and the crowd. The patient was getting irate now, but it was impossible to hear what he was saying through his clenched teeth. John shoved the bed forward into the men, knocking them back before one of them caught hold of it and started to twist it away from him. The pair of them grappled with it for a moment until the others realised what needed to be done and joined in. Together they grabbed it and twisted it out of John's grip, spinning it out of the way until it crashed into the wall to the wailing sounds of its furious occupant.

He was backed into a corner now so he thrashed out kicking and swiping the baton at anyone who entered his fighting arc. With a strong kick he pushed one of them back, hard enough to scatter two of the others. His feet skidded on the debris on the floor and he lost his footing, as he did he fell back landing on a shard of glass that was still sticking up from the shattered window. The shard went straight through the man's neck, breaking off as he slid to the floor, his carotid artery severed.

The blood sprayed out with enough pressure that it hit the far wall and splattered across the ceiling. The gruesome sight was enough to stop the attackers in their tracks but John knew he had no time to waste, aiming his baton for the next nearest and cracking him over the head with it. His latest victim sank to his knees before falling face first into the floor that was rapidly getting soaked in the other guy's blood.

The loud one, who had been first shouting to them growled and reached forward with a meaty fist, snatching John around the neck and squeezing tightly. John felt his throat close off and then he was actually being lifted off the ground by the huge man. He gripped at the man's hands and tried to pull his fingers loose but it was no good. So instead he grabbed the man by the head and drove his thumbs into the man's eyes. Something burst beneath his left thumbnail and the man screamed and dropped John, pulling away and clutching at his eye. John slipped as he landed, the floor was streaked with blood, and he landed hard on his back.

Seeing him vulnerable and on the floor, the next combatant rushed him, so he kicked out, viciously with his synthetic leg, catching him in the crotch with enough force to send the man to a heap in the floor, rolling back and forth in pain, curling on himself and clutching his balls. The last few men standing stared at the carnage that had taken place in the tiny room, those dead or incapacitated on the floor, the blinded man who was now sobbing like a small child curled in the corner, and they thought better of it. They tripped over each other as they each raced to the door in their attempt to escape.

John got to his feet and wiped the blood and retinal fluid from his hand onto the leg of his jumpsuit. He knocked on the bathroom door, "Hey, it's me. We need to go now!"

Hesitantly the door unlocked and the woman, Maria, peered out. "Oh my god!" She breathed opening the door wider. The young man, whose name John had yet to catch, turned round to the toilet bowl and sank to his knees as he vomited.

"Come on Caleb." Maria snapped. "We have to go."

Belton was slightly more sympathetic to the student, putting a hand on his shoulder but encouraging him to wipe his mouth and get up. He did as he was told and they were soon all on their feet and ready to follow the cop.

John strode out into the main ward of the infirmary. It was still crowded, with about twenty prisoners who had watched the short but violent brawl in shock and awe. John glared at them all, he had blood running down his face that wasn't his, and made a formidable sight. No one dared approach them. "You, you and you." He stopped and growled, pointing out three of the more nervous looking inmates. "I want your jumpsuits now!" He barked the order, and miraculously they obeyed, hastily divesting themselves of the orange clothing and leaving it dumped on the floor. John snatched all three up and then without looking at his charges snapped, "Come on!" The four of them left the infirmary at a jog.

Out of the infirmary, he lead them into the darkness of the unlit hallways. He took a few twists and turns until he was sure they were not being followed. Unfortunately it meant they were in pitch darkness and couldn't even see their hands in front of their faces.

"Here." Awkwardly he handed out the jumpsuits in the dark, hoping he'd given the right sizes to the right people but not worrying about it too much, figuring they'd work it out for themselves eventually.

While he listened to the three of them getting undressed and debating the size issue in hushed whispers, John bent over, resting his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths. The adrenaline was draining from him now and he felt shaky and unsteady all of a sudden. It had been just over twenty four hours since the prison had been taken over and the near death experiences seemed to be unrelenting. He'd never been in a fight like that last one and he never want to be again. No matter how many people he'd shot while doing his job, he'd never been taken someone out in hand to hand combat before and it was completely different. He had to push it out of him mind because otherwise it would make him sick too.

When a hand landed on his shoulder in the dark he nearly jumped out of his skin. His initial reaction was to grab it and twist, but he realised, almost too late, that it belonged to Maria.

"Hey, are you injured?" She asked.

He took a deep shuddering breath while he took stock of his body. Aside from a few bruises and his hand, which he'd actually managed to do to himself, he was fine. The absurdity of being wholly responsible for his only injury made him laugh. How did he become such a ruthless killer? "I'm fine." He chuckled. What would Dorian think of him now? He had to laugh because the reality was downright terrifying.

"Thank you, for getting us out of there. We wouldn't have made it without you."

"Yeah, well. We haven't made it out yet." John said, all serious again. "We're going to need somewhere safe until we can get you out of here."

"There's a medical supply closet back the way we came?"

"With medicines in?" Her disappointed silence confirmed the answer. "Then no, we can't be anywhere that someone might want to get into. Anything to do with drugs or food is off limits. For now, you're best off here in the dark. I'm going to look for somewhere more secure. I want you to stay together and wait until I get back okay?"

"Hey," Belton spoke up. "I got that baton back. You want it?"

John cursed himself mentally, he'd completely forgotten about it, having dropped it to the floor when he'd been grabbed. "No, you keep it. And don't be afraid to use it."

* * *

Dorian watched quietly while Maldonado paced back and forth in the relentless drizzling rain outside the command tent that had been set up outside the prison. She'd been thrown out once already, the commander on duty the evening before had been less than impressed at her wanting to be involved in the decision making, and when she'd pointed out that the problem had not been the decisions that were being made but that no one was making any decisions at all, she'd been told to go home. Undeterred, she'd spent the night watching the news feeds and had waited for the shift changeover in the morning to try her luck again with someone new. The only thing about this that has surprised Dorian was that she'd thought to drive by and pick Dorian up on her way.

There had been very little progress made though in the seven hours they'd been away. They'd determined quite thoroughly what wouldn't work to distrust their jamming equipment but had no idea what would, other than turning the machine off directly. But they couldn't find a way of contacting anyone on the inside.

The landline that was situated in the guards room had rung the first few times but had since been unplugged and the one in the wardens office just kept ringing. The jamming equipment made cell phone contact impossible and since one of the guards had been spotted hanged and displayed in one of the buildings few windows, the team on the outside were doubtful that there were many people left to contact anyway.

And this is where Maldonado's argument with higher authority had come in. They were giving up on contacting anyone at all now, plan b was to wait it out. They'd switched the water off, the electric was already out, and it wouldn't be long before the food ran out, they had explained. At that point, they were sure that whomever was in control of the jamming equipment would turn it off in exchange for food.

"How long until the food runs out?" She'd asked.

"They've maybe got enough for a week." Had been the reply.

And at that Dorian had nearly watched her get kicked out again as she raged against the decision. "I have a man in there! You still have staff. They'll never survive a week! We need to find another way."

Dorian had taken her by the arm and had lead her outside, where he was now watching her pace.

"I should never had let him." She said harshly. And this was the explanation for the loss of temper, Dorian surmised, she felt guilty.

"John's tough, we'll get him out of there." Dorian promised, although he had no idea how.

* * *

John left the three of them and staggered wearily back towards the centre of the building, tracing his hand along the rough wall as he memorised the way back. Getting to the main communal areas, even in the dark was easy, just follow the noise. Something was happening that was causing a lot of shouting and cheering. As he got closer he heard the smacking of fists on flesh and realised it was a fight, one with a large audience.

He hoped to sneak through the dining hall while the fight kept everyone occupied, maybe find something in the kitchen for the four of them to eat. He was also worried about Maria being found out and was debating running up to his cell for his razor. If she took her make up off, shaved her head and they found a way to creatively pad her jumpsuit to distort her figure, would she pass as another inmate? She'd have to stick to the shadows, he concluded, she'd be better off just hiding in the dark.

As he entered the dining hall, the noise was deafening. In the middle of the room, a space had been cleared as a makeshift fighting ring. A huge crowd gathered round, forming a circle and inside two bloodied men were grappling with each other. Starved for entertainment, the fight seemed to have most of the lower levels as an audience, a glance upwards revealed the next few levels up were crowded with onlookers, everyone jostling for a place closest to the action.

John ignored the scene and headed through towards the kitchen. As he turned his back of the fight there was a massive cheer and a thud as a body hit the ground. He glanced over his shoulder to see the victor parading around the room like he was a heavyweight boxing champion, and a group of others pulling a body out of the ring.

"Any volunteers for the next round?" The fight organiser called out, cackling with laughter.

John hurried towards the door, this was the last place he wanted to be, when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder and announced to the room, "I've got a volunteer right here!"


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Oh I don't think so." John started to protest, but the hand increased the pressure and suddenly there were more arms grabbing him and wheeling him towards the ring.

"What's the matter Kennex? I thought you liked picking fights."

As John was moved towards the ring he saw the others pulling the last contestant away. His head was hanging at an unnatural angle, his neck snapped, he'd been almost twice the size of John.

The crowd was getting excitable at the prospect of the next fight. Bets were being taken, and hurriedly scribbled on bits of paper, John wasn't sure what the odds were but from the snippets of overheard conversation he could tell that the odds were not in his favour. And then he was given a shove and he staggered into the ring coming face to face with his opponent.

He recognised him as Hannity, the man who had been giving him grief about Dorian on his first visit. The man's thick set face cracked into a wolfish grin as he saw who he was getting to fight next. John squared his shoulders and tried to look less afraid than he was. He remembered the look on Dorian's face when he'd run the man's rap sheet, but he really didn't need any more proof than the blood splatters on the floor and the dead man they'd pulled away, for him to know how dangerous this man was.

"John Kennex!" The man grinned, he held his hands up in a boxing stance. John mimicked him, planting his feet, bending his knees slightly and bringing his hands up to protected his face. The two men started to circle each other like professional fighters. John glanced at his broken hand in its plastic splint. Whatever happened next, it was going to hurt. "Remember, when I told you I could fuck you like a machine?" Hannity taunted, "It might be sooner than you think."

The huge man stepped forward and swung his meaty fist at John's head. John ducked and danced out of the way on nimble feet. Another swing and John ducked again, jabbing with his left hand at the man's solar plexus as he twisted away. The third swing and John lifted his arm and blocked it but Hannity followed it up with a left hook which caught John along his jaw. It was a glancing blow with a less dominant hand, as John rolled into the punch, but even then, it was enough to see stars. He staggered back out of the man's fighting arc to recover himself and could hear the crowd roar with enthusiasm at the hit. This man was slow and predictable but powerful, John knew he'd be unable to outbox him, other tactics would be required.

John ducked another hit and brought his left hand up into an uppercut, clacking Hannity's teeth together, he looked like he'd barely felt it. But without missing a beat, John stamped down on his foot with his left, pinning the man so he couldn't get away and then kneeing him in the crotch with his right, more powerful leg. He grabbed the man by the neck and forced him to bend over, drawing his knee up a second and a third time and connecting with the man's face. To get out of the hold, Hannity swung his fist again wildly, catching John on the back of his neck and causing him to break his hold. The crowd's excitement grew as both men staggered back, Hannity's nose was crushed and bleeding and he spat a thick glob of blood on the floor. There was some cheering at the sight of first blood being drawn but more concern as people realised their bet may not have been as much of a sure thing as expected.

"Still think you're going to fuck me up Hannity?" John taunted. He was never one for trash talking but he hoped that if he made the man angry he'd make another mistake. They started circling each other again. John swung out with his right fist, knowing that the man would bat his arm away, but leaving him open for another left-handed hit to his side. The man grunted but it barely seemed to affect him. John frowned, this fighting left-handed was awkward, he wasn't nearly as strong with this side.

Another punch and John side stepped it, Hannity's momentum brought him forward and John brought and elbow down between the man's shoulder blades. Good thing I'm fast, John thought to himself with a hint of a smile, come one White Cheetah! The smile was wiped from his face as Hannity swung round and grabbed him round the waist, actually managing to lift him off his feet before throwing him to the ground. All the air was knocked from John's lungs as he hit the concrete floor on his back, his head cracking back against the ground. Hannity loomed over him, intending to pummel him into the ground, but John drew both legs up and kicked him away and he staggered back into the crowd.

John rolled over onto his knees coughing as he tried to wheeze air back into his abused lungs, his head swimming. He watched as Hannity recovered his footing, the crowd propelling him back into the ring. But John also noticed a hand slip him something which he hid in his palm.

"Hey, where's the umpire?" John shouted, looking round as he staggered to his feet. "Pretty sure those betting on me want a fair fight."

The crowd laughed. "What?" someone cackled, "you're in a prison death match and you thought there'd be rules? You should have got yourself some friends Kennex."

Hannity set upon him again, John moved out of the way, so that the next punch missed his face. It caught his arm instead and he felt a sharp pain as something slashed across his bicep. The crowd cheered like their team had just scored a touchdown. There was no time to check it, his arm still worked so he concentrated on trying to disarm his opponent. The man was coming at him furiously now, slashing back and forth with the small shiv he had. It was all John could do to stay out of his way. He grabbed at John's head, clamping down on his shoulder, John twisted away but not before he felt another punch, this time to his kidney and felt the short, sharp blade sink into his flesh. John ripped himself away and used the momentum to deliver a vicious roundhouse kick.

The kick caught Hannity in the face, spraying teeth and bloody saliva as he twisted under the impact. The thug's heavy body came crashing down to the floor, face first. John darted forward and kicked the shiv out of his hand. He'd intended to snatch it up for himself but he was too close to the crowd and someone's hand darted out and disappeared it into the mass of inmates. John had expected Hannity to get up, had pulled himself back into the ready stance expecting more, certainly not wanting to get too close to the man in case it was a trap. But when he didn't move, John very carefully stepped forward and flipped him over with his foot. As Hannity was turned onto his back, dead eyes stared upwards, marred by the blood that poured from the wound in his head.

There was some cheering but mostly a collective growl as the fight organiser shouted out, "Kennex wins!" to his captive audience, and his lackeys started to collect their winnings.

Kennex was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest as he took stock of the situation, marvelling at the fact it wasn't him lying in a pool of his own blood. He glanced at his back, finding his white vest soaked through with blood from the knife wound. He started to push his way out of the crowd when they closed ranks on him leaving him trapped in the ring.

"What is this? Some sort of gladiatorial shit? Twenty-one fights to win my freedom?" John growled at the fight promoter who had come into the ring at the first sign that John was trying to leave.

"Something like that." The man laughed. "You've proved to be quite entertaining, and my audience is hungry for more." He spun round to address the crowds of people. "Aren't you hungry for more?" He yelled and received a resounding cheer that echoed throughout the prison.

"Tell you what, how about I let you catch your breath. Taking down Hannity can't have been easy." He cocked his head, signalling to a couple of goons in the crowd. They came forward dragging the next hapless victim between them. John's heart sank when he realised it was Adam. The skinny boy was dumped in the middle of the ring and the thugs stepped back. He looked equal parts terrified and furious.

"I'm not fighting him." John said indignantly.

"You're right. How about I even the odds a bit." The man reached into the crowd and brought out a large kitchen knife which he handed to Adam. Adam gripped it tightly in a shaking hand.

John frowned, "You won't get a fight out of us. How about I fight you instead? Bet that'll entertain your fans."

The fight organiser smiled, "Very funny, but no besides, Adam wants to fight you, don't you Adam?"

John turned to look at the teenager. "Come on Adam, you don't want to do this." John pleaded.

"Yes I do! You were going to use me to screw my brothers." Adam yelled at him. The crowd loved it, jeering and baying for blood.

"Your brothers screwed themselves. I was only trying to save lives." John said in a low voice.

"Kill him!" Someone shouted. Adam looked hesitant, so a chant started up, and soon the whole audience was chanting "Kill him, kill him." John watched him as he gripped the knife so tight his knuckles were white. Then someone shouted, "Come on pussy! Do it for your brothers!" Adam screamed and ran at him.

John watched him coming, and side stepped him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, clamping down on it to stop him from using the knife. Adam swung a punch, but John put his hand out and blocked that too, batting his fist away. Another attempt at a punch and another deflection. "Come on Adam," John whispered. "You don't want to do this. You're not a killer." He squeezed his thumb into a pressure point at his wrist, making him drop the knife.

John bent down to pick the knife up, but as he did, someone from the crowd kicked at him in the back, aiming for the bloody knife wound that Hannity had inflicted. John was unbalanced and went sprawling onto his hands and knees. It hurt enough that John's vision greyed out and he had to take deep breaths to control it. Adam snatched the knife up again, just as John staggered to his feet.

"Think about this Adam." John spoke with a calmness he didn't feel.

Adam stepped towards him, swinging his knife in a wide arc. He was trembling and looked ready to cry but he was determined as well. He kept stepping forward and whipping the knife back and forth in the air between them, forcing John to take steps back to get out of his way. Suddenly, John was backed up against the wall of onlookers. His hands were down by his side and then he felt someone slip a shiv into his hand. John couldn't take his eyes off of Adam to see who'd handed it to him but rather than use it he slipped it into his pocket, then holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, making sure that Adam had seen him pocketing the weapon.

"I'm still not going to hurt you Adam. And you don't want to hurt me."

"You can't tell me what I want."

"Okay, so you kill me. Then what happens? You fight someone who'll fight you back? You think you'll last against any of these guys here?" He waved his arms around for emphasis.

John could see then that he'd got to him. Adam dropped the knife down to by his side.

"That's better." John then pulled shiv he'd been given and he spun round and turned it on the crowd, realising a little late that he shouldn't move so fast, the room spinning. "Now, let us out of here." He commanded.

As he looked through the sea of faces, he noticed Corcoran, the old dirty cop that had worked with his dad. John realised it had to have been him that had given him the shiv. The old man stepped back revealing a break in the crowd and John took it. As he stepped through, brandishing his blade, others parted for him too. He kept an eye on Adam, thankfully he was taking his lead and following him, waving the kitchen knife at anyone who looked at least slightly threatening.

John tried to look menacing but the blood was seeping down his back and he was feeling dizzy. He faltered and would have crashed to his knees but someone grabbed his arm and steadied him. He looked up into the face of Guerrero who gave him a grim smile. Guerrero held him subtly by the elbow and together the three of them left towards their cell. John could hear someone, he thought it was Corcoran, suggest that they get a real fight this time, and the crowd turned their attention back to the ring, leaving them alone.

John got as far as the stairwell where he sat down heavily. Adam stood beside him quietly, looking sheepish. Guerrero peered at John's back and made a face. "Ey, cabrón, you're bleeding all over."

John nodded wearily, "I'll be fine." He stood up and started towards where he had left the guard and two nurses, but he staggered and Guerrero grabbed him again.

"Hey, where you going?"

John looked at the two young inmates, trying to decide whether he could trust them or not. In the end, he realised he had little choice.


	13. Chapter 12

Authors Notes: As always, I need to thank my reviewers for your kind words, and for sticking with me while I went on my writing hiatus a while back. Hope you enjoy this next instalment and don't hate me too much for all the cliffhangers.

* * *

Chapter 12

"This lighting is still really bad."

"If we go anywhere else they'll see you."

"Okay, but just don't expect it to be neat."

"Ah, shit!" John gasped under his breath as the needle went in. He gritted his teeth as Maria worked on the gash in his back, sowing it up with little stitches, neat, despite her complaints. John was laying on his stomach on the floor while she knelt beside him patching him up. He rested his chin on his folded arms and glanced round at the group of people he seemed to have gathered. They'd moved further down the hallway, so that they were no longer in the pitch black, but it was still difficult to see in the dim light. He'd reluctantly chosen to trust his two cellmates and let them help him to the two nurses that he'd hidden in the darkened corridors.

John was feeling dizzy from blood loss and his head was pounding, so it was a relief when they'd sprang into action without being asked. Caleb had snuck off back to the infirmary for supplies and had come back with sutures and bandages and a tiny penlight to see by, and Guerrero and Belton had posted themselves at either end of the corridor to keep watch while Maria tried to stem the bleeding. Adam had stood leaning against the wall, watching silently with hooded eyes. The young man hadn't said anything since they'd left the fighting ring. John would be more annoyed with his sullen ungratefulness were he not so preoccupied with the medical aid he was being given.

When the last stitch was put in and Maria tied it off, Caleb, who had been holding the penlight, put the small device in his teeth while he stuck a thick dressing on it. John went to get up but was stopped.

"You need to sit for a bit, let the dizziness go." Maria said, as the two nurses helped John up to a seated position against the wall. "You're lucky it wasn't deeper. He narrowly missed nicking a kidney."

John nodded, "Thank you." He said gratefully.

"Just try not to get into any more trouble okay?" Maria told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. John closed his eyes for a moment but opened them again when he heard Adam clear his throat. He stared up at the nineteen-year-old who had pushed himself from the wall. John looked up at him and frowned, biting his tongue to keep from getting angry at him.

"You could've killed me." Adam said quietly.

John just shrugged.

He noticed there was a look exchanged between Adam and Guerrero, the older inmate seemed to be urging him on. "You promise you can help me do a deal?"

John nodded. "My Captain can make sure it happens." He felt awash with relief, but he kept his expression neutral. It would do him no good to get carried away before the information proved useful.

Adam took a deep breath and glanced around to make sure there was no one outside of their little group to hear him. When he spoke, it was in a low voice, "There's a guy, an accountant. He launders the money. He's also the one who bought our properties for us, using a shell corporation."

"You got a name?" John smiled.

"Justin Villiers. He works at an address downtown."

John nodded. "I need to get this information to my boss. If this checks out, you'll be compensated."

"I want out of here." Adam said, panicky. "I'm going to get killed if I stay here."

"There's an old landline in the guard's office. It's linked in with the same back-up generator as the infirmary so it should still work in a power out." Belton suggested.

Guerrero shook his head. "Vincent and his crew have taken it over."

"What about the warden's office?" John asked.

Belton frowned. "That office works like a panic room. It'll be locked down, no one in or out. It's the guard's room or we wait this out."

That idea caused Adam's to get even more upset. "We can't wait this out. Why haven't they come for us yet? They've left us to it, hoping we'll all kill each other while we're trapped in here."

John couldn't say the thought hadn't occurred to him, although he knew at least one person would be trying to regain order, he refused to believe that Captain Maldonado wasn't doing everything in her power to try to get him out, no doubt backed up by his faithful partner Dorian. "There has to be a reason why they haven't come in yet. But you're right. The longer we wait with this information, the longer these girls are in danger. I need to get to a phone now." He hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the way his head swam.

"I'll go with you." Belton said gruffly.

"Thank you." John said.

"Me too." Guerrero said, causing the others to look at the man sceptically. "Look," he continued, "you're going to need help to do this. And I've done a lot of things but human trafficking? That shit needs to stop."

"And me." Adam said shakily. John got the sense that this change of heart had something to do with Guerrero's influence over the younger man.

"Okay." John nodded. "We need to get up there quietly, if we can cause a distraction then I can slip inside and use the phone."

"What do you suggest?" Belton asked.

"I have an idea. We'll have to make a pit stop first."

* * *

This plan was far too reliant on putting his trust in convicted criminals, John decided. But so far, thing seemed to be working smoothly. It turned out that for every prisoner revelling in the chaos of an unregulated prison, there were at least two more who wanted things to go back to the way they were. Whether it was for fear for their lives, an institutionalised need for order or just because they were sick of being in the dark with no running water. Whatever their motives, John had sent his team for supplies and they'd come up trumps, Guerrero knew a guy who knew a guy who had been making his own moonshine in a hidden air vent in the back of the laundry complex and Adam had headed back to their own cell for the rest. He now had a plastic bottle of the homemade alcohol, a lighter and a scrap of bedsheet, all for the promise of restoring order.

The plan was simple, John had explained it while he was soaking the strip of bedsheet in the alcohol and twisting it into a wick at the top of the bottle. Belton and Guerrero were lookouts, while Adam went to Vincent to barter for his latest fix. While there he'd light the Molotov cocktail that John had just made and hightail it out of there. With the fire spreading rapidly and no water access in the building for the sprinkler system, John would use the distraction to enter the room and use the phone. Guerrero had grinned at the plan and proclaimed, "What could go wrong?" John could have given him a long list but he'd held his tongue instead.

Now they had all gone up to the ground level where the guards room was located. The huge heavy metal doors that normally separated all the ground level areas were hanging wide open and the place had been trashed. They hurried passed the visitation room which had been turned into a gambling den, complete with cigars and bottles of scotch that had been appropriated from god knows where. Lee Vincent was amongst them, crowing over a victory, "Who thought that an MX run prison service was a good idea?" John muttered, mostly to himself, but in the hearing of Belton.

"You're preachin' to the choir here!" Belton agreed. "We all said that without human's keeping an eye on things, the scum in here'd be able to get away with murder. Sacks of shit, the lot of them."

The comment was said with great venom, something John wished the prison officer would tone down a bit considering they had two prisoners helping them. He was going to tell him so but Guerrero turned on him and grabbed the fat man by the neck. "Chinga tu madre! Careful who you call shit old man!" He growled. "Or I'll tell this fine upstanding officer here that it's you who smuggles the booze in, in exchange for a hefty payout."

John rolled his eyes, he wasn't surprised. He'd known something was off about the prison officer from the moment he'd been incarcerated. Sadly, no matter what he thought to them, he was stuck with his little team now, at least until he could complete his mission. "Everyone needs to calm down." He said in his best low and dangerous tone, getting between the two men and pulling them apart. Both of them allowed him to intervene but stood there glaring at each other, their fists clenched. "You can settle your differences later. Right now, you have the choice to help me out, or you can get the hell out of my way and let me deal with it." Miraculously, it worked and although the two of them continued to glare at each other, the group moved on towards the guards room.

The corridor here was empty but there was a lot of noise coming from the guards room. The door was left ajar and they could hear music being played and a couple of men laughing. The music was some sort of old school hip hop from before John was born, and sounded tinny. John realised that in absence of a power supply, they'd phone through on the landline phone and someone was playing it down the phone to them while they listened on speaker. He could hear another voice trying to carry on a conversation with them despite the din. At least John knew that the phone was working.

He nodded to the others and Belton left them to skirt round to the other side of the corridor to stand guard further down. The remaining three hid around the corner from the room and Adam took the Molotov cocktail, nervously trying to stuff it into his jumpsuit pocket.

"Seriously, man. That asshole is the worst one in here." Guerrero said, still not letting his spat with Belton go. "You gonna do something about him right?"

John clapped a hand on his shoulder to try to calm him down. "Right now, all I care about is making this phone call. We'll sort any injustices out later."

"Yeah?" Guerrero didn't sound convinced. "You chota are all the same, always converin' for each other."

The assumption riled John, but he didn't have time to argue. He turned to face Adam. "Are you good?"

"Yeah." Adam replied in the most unconvincing way possible. John gently wheeled him round and nudged him in the direction of the room.

John hid with his back to the wall as Adam went to go speak with Vincent's crew. He heard the tentative knock on the door to get their attention but the music was too loud to hear what was being said. The conversation seemed to be taking a long time and it was long enough for John to start second guessing trusting the young addict. Just as he was cursing himself for allowing the teen to screw the plan up, there was a yelp and the sound of fire igniting. Then there was a scream that was quite clearly from Adam. Guerrero darted round the corner and chased after his friend, abandoning his post.

The hallway started to fill with smoke, whatever Adam had thrown his little cocktail at had clearly caught light. Then there was the sound of coughing and three guys came racing passed John on their way out.

John pulled his vest up over his mouth and nose to protect him from the smoke and kept low as he crept into the abandoned room. The room was of a decent size, having once housed a lot more guards than now worked at the facility, with a wall off screens on one side that were currently dark, and a couple of couches and a dining table and kitchenette in the opposite corner. It was the couches that had now caught light and the flames were burning up the walls, billowing thick black smoke up into the room.

John tried to suppress a coughing fit as he reached the phone on the desk below the screens and hung up the music before dialling a number that he knew by heart. He sat on the floor to avoid the worst of the smoke as it rang. He could feel the heat of the fire on his face and his lungs constricting as he listened to the ring tone on the handset. It took five rings to get answered and when it was picked up, John let out a sigh of relief.

"Hello, this is..."

John didn't even allow her to let out her usual greeting before interrupting her. "Sandra, it's John. Take this name down. Justin Villiers, he has an accountancy firm downtown." He was interrupted by a persistent cough from the smoke.

"John, are you alright?"

"Yes," he croaked. "Get Dorian to run a check. Villiers is the money launderer and buys up their property for them."

Despite the obvious concern in her voice, Maldonado took her usual command. There was a pause while she was clearly discussing something with someone, and then, "John? Dorian says he's got the name. He's calling Paul now, he'll start planning the raid. John, are you alright? We're trying to get you out of there."

"I'm fine." John lied, even though the cough was getting worse. The smoke had filled the entire room by now and he could barely his hand in front of his face. "Don't worry about me, you need to concentrate on Villiers."

"I will. But there are plenty of people working on a way to get you out."

"Yeah? So what's taking so long?" John found himself saying. There were shouts outside now, he knew he didn't have long to talk.

"There's a jamming device. We think it's inside the building and can't be shut down remotely. Someone with a lot of money has set this up."

John glanced around the room, not that he could see most of it. When he thought about the kinds of people who might have that kind of money and power, only one came to mind. Corcoran had warned him that Vincent had wanted a riot, was the device in here? He had more questions to ask, but suddenly the line went dead and he was left with a dial tone.

John slammed the phone down and cursed under his breath. He had no idea what this device would look like, but to cover the whole of the prison it had to be reasonably large. He started pulling out various cupboards and clearing shelves, anywhere that a device like that might be hidden. Then he remembered he had seen an old wooden door to the side of the kitchenette. Blindly, he searched for it, his fingers finding the knob and letting himself through, he wanted to the door behind himself to keep the smoke out but realised he needed the fire to see what he was doing in this windowless room.

It was a small locker room with old metal lockers. John started smashing at the locks, bending the thin metal fronts until he prised them open. It was the fourth locker he tried that he looked down and underneath someone's dark jacket was a large metal device with a digital screen on it. The device was the size of a black box data recorder, of the kind found in airplanes, and had a similar casing. He crouched down and had a look at the screen. There were a few buttons on it but none of them were labelled. John had to remind himself it wasn't a bomb as he started pressing buttons randomly. At first nothing seemed to happen, but then eventually he must have pressed the right button as John could feel the low vibrations the machine was giving off stop and then suddenly the lights went on in the room.

The lights crackled on and John looked up at them with relief, although the sudden visibility was short lived. John had just picked up the device and smashed it against the floor when the lights flickered and died again, reminding him that the fire was too close for comfort and that it had just eaten through the electrics in the wall. John wasn't sure that smashing the device had caused any damage, but he didn't have time to find out. He turned on his heel and ran.

The main guards room was now unbearably hot as he dashed through it towards the door. He stumbled out into the corridor beyond, coughing and struggling to breathe. As he blinked away the soot that had made it into his eyes, he felt a couple of pairs of hands grab at him and haul him away. He was propelled out of the corridor and towards the main atrium of the prison, still struggling to see. As he got away from the smoke and his eyes adjusted he realised the hands had not belonged to Guerrero and Belton as he'd hoped, but two of Vincent's men.

He was being pulled out into the main prison population. The entrance on the ground floor providing a viewpoint from which to survey the levels above and below where he was. He realised now that the viewpoint had become a stage, with huge crowds of the prison population staring at him from the nearby levels. The lights were on again now and it illuminated them, showing him just how many had come to see the latest spectacle. Vincent was standing addressing the crowd as John was pulled forwards. He saw that Guerrero and Adam were on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs with strips of bedsheet. Belton was stood in the crowd, his arms crossed, beside a man that John recognised as belonging to Vincent. He watched as the man slipped something into the prison guard's hand, it was a subtle gesture but one that was obviously meant to be seen by the detective. They wanted him to know he'd been double crossed.

John was forced to his knees between Guerrero and Adam, and his hands wrenched behind his back as he tied them tightly. Vincent turned to him and grinned. The punch, when he gave it, was not unexpected, but hurt all the same. It threw him sideways, and he almost knocked Guerrero over, but rough hands grabbed him and hauled him back upright again.

"These men are trying to stop our fun!" Vincent shouted at the onlookers. "What do you think we should do with them?" And for the second time that day, the crowd cheered for John's blood to be spilled.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Dorian ended his call with Detective Paul and stared at Captain Maldonado who had finished talking to John and was already on the phone to the Commissioner to update him. She spoke with her usual strong control and determination but the way that she was pacing gave away her nervousness. Dorian could tell she was mulling over a decision and he could guess what it was.

When she hung up, she looked at Dorian guiltily. "I want to be here for John but…"

"But you have to go and oversee the raids." Dorian finished for her. "John would want you to make sure this was done right."

She nodded in agreement. "Will you stay here and keep me updated?"

"Of course Captain." Dorian smiled, thinking it funny how it was just over a year ago that he would have been told, not asked to do something, his feelings on the subject dismissed as being unimportant. He watched the tiny woman hurry off to her car, and then took up a post outside the command tent, staring at the prison as though he could will John to be okay just by his presence.

He knew he was decidedly unwelcome in the command tent and so was determined to stay out of their way. He'd been tolerated so far by the SWAT team because of the Captain, but now that she had gone everyone was glancing at him with a look of distaste, even the MXs, although of course they were unable to process feelings so that was probably a product of Dorian's imagination.

Word had gotten round amongst the officers that were stationed outside the prison that other teams were being called in for something big, and they were speculating as to what it could be. It was leaving most of them grumbling, they'd been sitting and waiting for a development at the prison that they could use for over a day now and they were bored and frustrated. The general consensus was that they'd all rather be working on whatever the other teams were about to do.

Dorian of course, kept quiet about his insider information, as much as he had wanted to be involved in the take down of the human trafficking ring there was nothing on earth that was going to move him from this prison until he knew John was safe. He'd been able to overhear the conversation between his partner and their Captain and he could tell something was seriously wrong. A quick analysis of the background noise had told him there was a fire and the inflections in John's voice had told him he was in pain. He'd kept these observations to himself. He knew that Maldonado would also have noticed something was wrong, but to tell her so bluntly of the dangers that John currently faced while she was unable to do anything to help him would not have been productive. There was a part of him that wanted the woman to be here with him now, but he knew that she wouldn't have abandoned John unless she had no other choice.

The anxiety was turning his mood dark, churning over and over in his mind all the horrible things that could be happening, when suddenly he saw the lights come on at the prison entrance. Dorian's face broke into a grin and he dashed into the command tent. Others had seen it too and suddenly the small tent was a hive of activity, as extra teams were called in and tactical plans were discussed. Dorian approached the 'on site' commander just as he finished a phone call. "Sir," he said, determined not to be dismissed, "I want to be part of the entry team."

The commander, a silver haired stern looking man, gave him a considered look, but then nodded. "You got it DRN, but you follow orders from me, you got that?"

Dorian nodded, relief flooding his synthetic soul. "Of course Sir. Thank you."

And then it got frustrating. Dorian stayed out of their way as they tried to organise their troops. The prison had almost a thousand inmates, and as a result they needed a few large teams of MXs to enter. It took a while to get more troops in, Dorian could overhear an argument that the commander was having on the phone about the need for more resources. It appeared there was a tug of war going on between the commanders at the prison and those arranging the human trafficking raids to secure as many of their limited numbers as possible.

* * *

Adam was crying, and John couldn't blame him. Vincent and his crew had been steadily beating him until he was unrecognisable. It had infuriated Guerrero, who even now was acting like the boy's big brother. He'd flown into a rage, forced himself to his feet despite the men holding him down and had rushed Adam's attackers in a sort of berserker rage. He had thrown one of them over the railings before he had been subdued by a knife cruelly slashed across the tendons at the back of his knee. It had left the man panting on the floor, blood pouring from the wound, and Adam's beating had been intensified as a result.

Once again, John was weighing up the benefits of staying out of this. He knew he had to keep his head down and wait it out until rescue came, and he was sure that they would now that they could gain access to the building. But the two men before him had helped him with his mission when they didn't have to, and for that he owed them something. There was no way he had the strength left to fight, but he could be the distraction.

"Hope you're enjoying this." He glared at Vincent who was stood over Adam and quietly rewrapping his hand for the next punch. "Because since the lights are back on, you know it's only a matter of time before SWAT busts through the door."

Vincent just studied at him, mildly amused.

"I destroyed your little gadget. You must be pissed, right? The reign of Vincent the Terrible, finally at its end. I wonder how long you get in solitary for smuggling a device in to start a riot."

Vincent shrugged. "All good things must come to an end. Fun while it lasted though. You know? Your first day in here, you nearly killed me. But it's been highly enjoyable getting to retaliate."

John tried to squirm away from the man as he approached, but was held fast by two enormous goons. Vincent reached into his pocket and drew out a syringe. He casually flicked the air bubble out of it and then unceremoniously jammed the needle into his neck. John gasped at the pain and the feeling of the cold liquid run through his veins. He could feel the effects almost instantly, making him light headed and nauseous. It dulled the pain in his hand and back, but at the same time made the room spin dangerously fast, and then when Vincent threw a punch, the pain exploded just the same. His head lolled to the side as he struggled to stay alert and upright.

John spat blood on the floor and grinned through split lips, trying really hard to seem unaffected, like a drunk trying to convince someone they were sober.

"Pretty expensive bit of kit though." John commented, once he'd got his breathing under control. His speech was slurring, but he was kind of proud of himself for getting any words out at all.

Vincent shrugged again. "Wasn't mine. Came with the cases of booze, from 'a friend', haven't got a fucking clue who sent it."

John glanced over at the crowd, Belton was stood there listening. John watched his face fall as he realised that he'd been used to smuggle the device in. John thought it would have been poetic irony if the guard had been killed in a riot he'd unwittingly caused.

It then dawned on him, the implications of that statement. "They were getting you to test it." John muttered, mostly to himself. "Shit! Something big is being planned." He had to tell the Captain, he thought to himself. His vision was starting to fade, and he suddenly panicked that when he woke up he wouldn't remember. "The device was a test, the device was a test, the device was a test." He chanted over and over to himself, as Vincent punched him again, and again, until he lost consciousness.

* * *

In the end, it took about an hour before they had a team comprised of twenty human officers and forty MX's plus Dorian, briefed and ready to go. Dorian had been getting increasingly annoyed at the length of time it was taking, but during the briefing the commander singled him out and told him that his role would be to focus on extracting John, and that had calmed him immensely. Eventually Dorian was armed with an assault rifle and was stood at the entrance beside the MXs that had been chosen to be the first to enter.

There was no dramatic breaking down of the door, now that they had control of the building again, it took a keycode and a radio signal from the MXs and the electronic door slid open and they entered with a methodical calmness. The front of the prison was the area seen by members of the public and contained offices, the guards room and the visitation room. As they moved through the building, MXs peeled off and cleared each room, taking control of the people in it if it was occupied, moving on to the next if it was empty.

They very soon came across the fire in the guards room, but now that they had control of the building again, it took only a call on the radio before they could turn on the sprinklers and start to control the blaze. The fire had burned hot but was dying out on its own, as there was nothing left to feed it in the room or the stark concrete corridor beyond, Dorian was tempted to go in and search the room but a quick glance at the devastation inside told him that had anyone still been in there they would no longer be alive. He had to push on and hope that John had escaped.

As they got further through the building, Dorian could hear sounds of a large crowd echoing round the atrium of the main population area of the prison. Dorian sped up so that he was at the front of the officers who were making their way there, determined to be the first to find out what the reason for the shouting was, he had a feeling he wasn't going to like what he found. Despite steeling himself for the worst, he froze in horror as he came through the door.

It was a good thing in that moment that MXs couldn't feel. They poured passed Dorian to secure the prisoners, while he was rooted to the spot. The atrium was vast, with concentric circles of cells on levels up above and below them, and the walkways of dozens of them were crowded with men, all staring at the same thing. Dorian followed their gaze to the three men who had been strung up on display by their wrists, facing the crowds, their feet swinging just below the floor. Dorian didn't need to see the identifying shoulder tattoo to recognise the one in the middle. He noticed splashes of blood on the floor and feared the worst. A human officer came up behind him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before moving through, shouting at the prisoners to freeze and raise their hands. It was enough to shake Dorian out of his stupor and he rushed to help.

He ignored the shouting and the chaos of everyone else and focussed on the man in front of him. He moved between the bodies to get to the front, as he did, something crunched underfoot and he glanced down to see a used syringe. "John?" The detective's head hung low, his chin resting against his chest. He'd been beaten, deep bruising stood out on his face, along his chin, his lip split. Dorian reached up and touched the man's cheek tentatively.

He thought the man was unconscious but in response to the touch, John's lifted his head a little and stared at him with glassy eyes. "Marty?" John croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No, it's Dorian." The android said sadly, "hold on, I'm going to get you down from here." He reached up to twisted bedsheets that had been turned into restraints, produced a knife from his pocket and started to saw through the material. Either side of him some human officers were also cutting down the two other men. They'd also been beaten. The muscular Hispanic one was mumbling something to his rescuers through what looked to Dorian to be a dislocated jaw, but the young, skinny one was hanging limply. Dorian recognised him as the brother of the traffickers that John had been sent in to get information from. The officer with him was searching desperately for a pulse. Without stopping his work to free John, Dorian reached out with a hand and placed it on the prisoner's chest. When he could detect no signs of life he shook his head sadly.

Suddenly the knife cut through the last of the material that was holding John up and his arms went slack. Dorian caught the man before he fell, and held him close, taking comfort in the physical contact and hoping that John was too. But it appeared that John had no idea where he was, he kept whispering, "I'm sorry Marty, I'm sorry." Dorian lifted the distraught man into his arms and hurried for the exit.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"I should never have let him." Sandra Maldonado's eyes were red rimmed and she hugged her arms across her chest. She quite often stood with her arms crossed, but it had always been a sign of her no-nonsense persona, now it just made her look small and a little lost. Dorian sidled up to her and followed her gaze, subconsciously mimicking her stance. He glanced down at the petite woman and thought about enveloping her in a hug, but he refrained, mostly because a little part of thing was thinking, 'no, you shouldn't have.'

They were stood in the dimly lit corridor of a hospital at night, staring through a half-shuttered window to their friend on the other side of the glass. John was asleep, technically still under anaesthesia from the operation on his hand, and yet even in deep medical induced unconsciousness, he'd managed to toss and turn, his sheets had fallen away exposing the gown that covered his chest and had become twisted around the stump of his right thigh.

It had taken Dorian a long amount of time to come to an understanding about John's leg and the way the synthetic part impacted on him. As a DRN, it was so natural to need parts changed through damage, that it was second nature. In fact, sometimes it was an upgrade, and that would spark in him a feeling not unlike a kid at Christmas who had just got a cool new toy. John's leg, for a long time in Dorian's mind, was an upgrade. It made him faster and stronger and the fact that John clearly resented it so much, in a way hurt Dorian too because he saw it as an indictment of Dorian's very existence. John had kept up the bravado, the sarcasm and the surliness so well that it was only in moments like this, when he saw John for who he really was, a worn out and haunted man whose life had been torn violently away, wounding him irreparably. The question now, was how many times could one man be torn apart, before they stop being who they once were.

They stood in silence a while, each in their own contemplation, until Valerie and Paul slid up to them and two watchers became four. "They said physically he's gonna be fine." Paul said, his hands in his suit pockets. "They were able to realign all the bones in his hand, and the knife wound wasn't as bad as they expected." This was not news to anyone, the four of them had sat together an hour ago, cramped into a small doctor's office while they were told the news, it was a reminder, an attempt to calm some of the fraught nerves that they all had. "Come on," he then said gently to the Captain, "I'll take you and Valerie home."

"He shouldn't be alone when he wakes up." Maldonado said quietly.

"And he's not going to be, Dorian you're not going anywhere are you?" Paul said. Dorian shook his head in response. "Good man." Paul continued, giving the android a quick clap on the arm. "We'll be back in the morning."

And with that, the three humans left. Dorian rarely got moments to himself, and this one, with all that had gone on, almost threatened to overwhelm him. But at the same time, he realised he needed the space to order his thoughts, so it was with relief he watched the three detectives walk down the hall, before he opened the door to John's room and let himself in.

The room was dark, save for the pale light that was still on over John's head, allowing the nursing staff to see him and the IV that was hung beside him, without disturbing him. The light made his face too gaunt, and highlighted the bruises that were hidden beneath his unruly facial hair. Dorian decided he would offer to help the man shave in the morning, convinced that once he looked more like his usual self then he'd start to feel it again. It would take a lot more than that, Dorian knew, when he'd found his partner in that place and scooped him into his arms, it was more like finding a hurt and abandoned puppy than a human being.

Dorian moved to tuck his partner in, rearranging the bedsheets so that his hands were folded neatly over the thin blanket, one arm in a cast, held together with screws beneath the skin, the other, trailing a line of fluids and painkillers from a cannula at his wrist. He knew John would be mortified if he was caught being tucked in like a child, but he also knew he wouldn't want his leg to be on show.

He'd hoped his ministrations would have stirred the man, but they didn't. So instead he went over to the floor to ceiling windows beyond the bed and stared out into the night. The hospital was one of the newer skyscrapers the city had to offer, and as a result it towered high above the rest of the city. John's room was on one of the higher floors and the view was nothing short of spectacular. Dorian could see most of the city sprawled out before him, the white lights of buildings, the warmer glow of the streetlights, the neon signs of downtown and the red lines of traffic despite the lateness of the hour. Cutting through it all was the dark, sinister presence of The Wall, topped with searchlights, it provided an abrupt stop to the lights, as though everything beyond it was a void, that was once a part of something but had been destroyed, gone but still causing an ugly scar on the landscape. Dorian thought of the wall, and then he thought of John's leg.

His attention was drawn to little pockets of blue and red flashing lights, that had gathered in three different areas of downtown and along the lake. If he zoomed in his sensors, he could pick up on the radio chatter from each incident, the small collections of police vehicles, not normally what someone would associate with a feeling of calm, but here it did. They were the last remnants of the raids that had taken place all over the city, from the moment of that crackly phone call from inside the prison. Dorian checked the reports, 96 women and young girls had been rescued, almost all the ringleaders were believed to be in custody. It had been a good result, no matter how you looked at it, but Dorian knew he was yet to understand what price had been paid.

He stood at the window a long time, listening to the police scanner as weary officers congratulated themselves on a job well done and headed home for the night. They had pulled off a massive feat that was already starting to be the headline of every news feed, and Dorian was proud of them, but it was bittersweet, knowing that the man responsible for it all was laying broken beside him.

Eventually, there was a noise from the bed, making Dorian whip round and rush to his friend's side. He took the seat beside the bed and laid a hand on John's arm, stroking his thumb over the man's skin soothingly. Suddenly the noise, which at first had been a faint whimper, turned into a loud keening, a completely animal noise coming from John's throat. He thrashed in the bed, finding the cannula in his arm and fumbling to tear it out. Thankfully, the clumsiness of his broken hand made it impossible and Dorian was able to snag it away from him before he caused any damage. Dorian sat on the side of John's bed and pulled the man into his arms. The noise subsided, as though some part of John had realised it was him, and had shut it off with a strangled sob. His thrashing didn't stop though, and he kept trying to twist away out of Dorian's grip, shoving and punching to try to get to the cannula in his arm and pull it free.

"Get it off me, get it off me." He snarled, viciously, with a punch to Dorian jaw that might have broken it, had he been human.

"John!" Dorian pleaded, refusing to give up the struggle but worried that the man was going to further injure himself. "It's me, Dorian. You're in the hospital, you're safe."

"Get it out, no more drugs!" He screamed, forcing Dorian back. It was enough for three nurses to come running and burst into the room. Dorian ignored them and held fast. He dreaded to think the kind of damage John could do to the well meaning staff in his current state.

"No more drugs!" Dorian agreed. "It's just fluids to help you hydrate. You're safe here, I've got you." He stroked the man's hair, it was damp with sweat.

"You're not real." John argued quietly, his sudden manic energy draining away. Sadly, Dorian realised, it wasn't that John had realised he was safe, so much that he seemed suddenly too tired to fight it. "You're not real," he whispered over and over, his throat raw. He still beat at Dorian's chest, but it was without energy, and then his voice cracked completely and he sobbed.

Dorian felt utterly helpless as he cradled his partner to his chest, stroking his hair as the vibrations of his shuddering tears wrecked them both. "I'm real John, I'm real."

And then, if Dorian's heart wasn't already breaking enough, John muttered "I'm so sorry Marty, I'm so sorry."

"I'm not Marty, I'm Dorian..." he started to say, but John wasn't listening.

His voice was so quiet and broken, as he mumbled into Dorian's shoulder, that he had to adjust his audio-parameters to hear.

"It should have been me, it was my raid, my decision. I should've gotten you out there and home to your family, if it was the last thing I'd done. I'm sorry there's nothing I can do now, it's too late, I know why you hate me, it's the least I deserve."

"Hey, John, no one hates you." Dorian said, continuing to stroke his friend's hair, desperate to get this one sentiment through to the distraught human. "I don't hate you."

He lost track of how many times he said it, repeating the litany over and over. He wasn't even sure when the nurses had left, having made the decision that Dorian had the situation handled. Dorian wasn't convinced that he was handling it very well, at times he was sure he'd gotten through the heavy mental barriers that John had put up, and then just when Dorian was sure that he was coming round, the detective would say something that would prove that he still thought he was talking to his dead partner.

Eventually, the injured man seemed to wear himself out, so much so that when a nurse crept in and injected a sedative into his IV, he didn't even notice. After a minute, he settled into a restless sleep and Dorian was able to lay him back against the pillows.

"The drugs in his system," the nurse said softly, just behind him, "they're more potent than anything I've seen before. He's going to have a tough time coming out of it, but you were just what he needed. Keep doing what you're doing and he'll be fine."

Dorian smiled at her sadly.

"This sort of thing isn't easy on friends either, so if you need to talk you can always come and find me."

"I'm grateful." Dorian managed, although he couldn't find the energy to reflect the sentiment in his tone.

* * *

By the time John stirred again, the sun was just starting to rise through the window, splashing the sky with a crisp blue, clouds highlighting with orange. It was going to be a beautiful day, if a cold one.

Dorian was sat in his chair pulled up to the bed, his hand resting lightly on John's arm while he conserved power. But he was instantly alert when John shifted under his grasp.

John's first move had been somewhat predictably, to go for the IV, he brought his broken hand over to grab at it but stopped when he saw that he was no longer attached, and that he had Dorian's hand casually protecting the cannula. Dorian and John's eyes met for a second, but then John flung the blankets off himself and swung his legs round. There was another beat as he realised that he didn't have his prosthetic, but urgency pushed him to stand anyway. Dorian was there in an instant, wrapping the weakened man's arm over his shoulder and guiding him to the only destination that would require so much panic.

Once in the small en suite bathroom, John braced his hands against the wall and glared at the android. "Get out Dorian." He said through gritted teeth, with enough venom that he was obeyed. Dorian stepped back and closed the door, intending to burst in if it sounded like he was needed, but there was a click and he realised that John had found time to lock him out, before the sounds came of him retching into the toilet bowl.

Dorian waited helplessly for a long time, before eventually the lock clicked again and the door swung ajar. Dorian opened it wider to find John sat on the floor, looking pale and clammy and utterly exhausted. Dorian surmised that the human had tried to use the door to pull himself up but had failed. He thought it best to not say anything as he scooped the human up and carried him back to bed. The fact that there were no protests at the action, spoke more than words ever could.

Once John was back under the sheets he gazed sorrowfully at Dorian with bloodshot, sunken eyes. "I'm going to need my leg." He pointed out wearily.

Dorian nodded, "it's being charged, I'll bring it as soon as it's done."

John nodded and they fell into an awkward silence.

"It worked you know!" Dorian said, hoping the news could cheer him up. "We found the accountant your cellie gave, lead us to five addresses. 93 young women rescued. 17 in custody." Three of the women had been found so ill that they'd died overnight, but John didn't need to know this right now. "You saved a lot of lives yesterday John."

John nodded again, he gave a thin lipped smile, but appeared to be fighting back tears. That wasn't the reaction that Dorian had hoped for at all, so he sat on the edge of John's bed and pulled him up into a hug. Exhausted, John let him, and even wrapped his arms loosely around the android's back as he took deep breaths to compose himself.

When the human pulled away, it was as though he'd gotten the mask he always wore back into place. It was a pale and sunken version of his usual self but at least it was recognisable. "I nearly blew it." He admitted.

"You couldn't have predicted they'd riot, or that anyone would have access to that kind of tech."

John shook his head. "No, but if I'd gotten my head out of my ass sooner I might have managed to build up a rapport."

"I wish you'd told me what you were doing." Dorian said sadly.

"I couldn't."

The choice of word was telling. Dorian had been hoping for 'I wanted to', had been prepared to listen to the reasons why despite John's burning need to tell his best friend, he was unable. 'I couldn't' was subtly different, there was no conflict, no need to share. It was a choice of word that hurt Dorian more than he'd care to admit.

"Maldonado and I have been convinced for some time there's a mole. We still haven't found it. And if they'd gotten hold of you, there would have been files, video proof, we just couldn't."

Dorian nodded sadly.

John was suddenly struck with something and grabbed Dorian's arm in a panic. "The device! It wasn't Vincent's idea. Someone else put it there..."

Dorian grabbed his arm too, to calm him down. "We know. You were mumbling about it when we rescued you last night. It makes sense, Vincent makes a lot of money but he's not the kind of guy who uses advanced tech. We think you're right, it was a test for something bigger."

"But what though? Or who? InSyndicate?"

"Perhaps. We don't know yet. But we're looking into it."

John nodded and fell back against the sheets, taking a deep breath, but it didn't last, surging out of bed again despite the fact the sudden movement was clearly making his head spin. Dorian helped him to the bathroom again, he wasn't locked out this time but he allowed John his privacy as his body tried to purge the drugs from his system. Dorian waited for him patiently and thought about going back down to that prison and shooting every single one of them that had hurt his friend.


	16. Epilogue

Epilogue

Despite a couple of heated arguments about the length of his stay, John was kept in hospital for three days while he rode out the worst of the withdrawal. Dorian had hoped that taking him home would brighten the man's mood but instead he'd just flopped sullenly on the couch and turned the TV on. Dorian had bought groceries and started busying himself in the kitchen, hoping to make the man a meal before that sullenness was turned on him and he was thrown out. John had been so ill he hadn't eaten since before the riot and he was looking a little thin.

As Dorian chopped vegetables with the speed of a professional chef and slid them into the stew he was making, he listened to the sound of John's television. The TV was on a news channel, it was the tail end of a report on the prison riot. They were interviewing some woman who had been caught up in it. "... it was so frightening, we were attacked, but my colleague and I were rescued by a man who protected us."

"You mean a prisoner?" The reporter asked.

"He was..." the woman paused, "...well I'm not exactly sure. But I know I owe him my life."

Dorian smiled, knowing exactly who the mystery rescuer had been. The reporting switched to the main story, what they were calling 'the bust of the decade', detailing the depth of the trafficking operation, the groups links to other smuggling operations like drugs and black market weaponry. The announcer promised that in a few minutes they'd interview one of the victims that had been saved. Dorian smiled, perhaps the visible proof of someone else he'd rescued would hearten the detective, but instead he just heard John switch the TV off instead.

Dorian strode into the other room. "You should watch the interview John. See just how much of a difference you've made."

John looked up from the sofa, he was sprawled across it, his broken arm resting on his stomach and his head on the armrest. The bruising had developed over the last few days and his face was mottled in different colours, his jaw still so bad that everything he spoke came out through gritted teeth. "I read the reports Dorian." He said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"It's not the same." Dorian sent an electronic signal to the television and turned it back on without a remote, knowing John hated it when he did that. The reporters were in the studio still discussing the trafficking trade, they clearly had been given most of the morning to talk about it. They had some sort of expert on, discussing the impact The Wall had had on the black market dealings in the city.

"I know I should feel happy about it, but I just can't." John admitted as they both watched. While the 'expert' talked they were showing pictures of the raids, people being escorted out of buildings in cuffs, a row of police cruisers parked up, their lights flashing, an aerial shot of a house surrounded by crime scene tape guarded by MXs.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Prison messed with my head." John shrugged. Dorian had caught just a glimpse of just how much that statement was true that night in the hospital, but he knew better than to say anything. He still wasn't sure how much the detective remembered of that night, and he wasn't about to remind him.

"Well then." Dorian said decisively. "I guess it's my job to sort it out. I couldn't be there for you then, but I'm here now. And I'm not letting you shut me out. Move over." Dorian picked up the man's legs and shifted them gently off the sofa so he could sit beside him.

They watched the television in silence as the promised interview came on. The woman, a young immigrant who'd been duped into believing she was coming to work in a beauty salon, spoke candidly about her capture, the treatment of her and her fellow slaves, and the overwhelming joy at her rescue. She had tears streaming down her face the entire time but her voice was strong and determined. "They tried to break us," she said, "but we helped each other and we stayed strong."

Dorian glanced at John's face at the words but he was watching impassively. Still, there was the barest change, that only an android could detect, the calming of a heart rate, tension leaving taut muscles, the softening of his bruised jaw. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Dorian knew that John berated himself for taking too long to get the mission completed. He felt that his own mission to get John back to himself was going to be equally frustrating at times, but perhaps it didn't matter how long it took as long as he didn't give up. He looked at the battered man beside him and promised silently that he never would.

* * *

Authors Note: So here we are, finished at last. I hope you've enjoyed my latest offering to this little fandom. Perhaps it wasn't the happiest of endings but the road to being 'okay' again is rarely a short one. Don't worry though, John's got Dorian looking after him, he'll be fine.

As always, I'd love to hear from you, just a few words in the review box make my day. Thanks for sticking with me.

 **This fic is dedicated to DevinBourdain who has continued to make me smile over the last few tough months, and who knew that the perfect thing to make me feel better was a homemade Karl Urban colouring book! :-)**


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